


Off the Record

by charmedcas



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Journalism, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Insomnia, M/M, Minor Character Death, Nightmares, Psychological Horror, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-20
Updated: 2016-10-20
Packaged: 2018-08-23 08:16:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 75,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8320621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charmedcas/pseuds/charmedcas
Summary: After making the move to the small town of Cedar Woods, Oregon, writer Castiel Novak struggles to reconcile his past with his present. Working for the town newspaper, he learns more about the tight-knit community through the articles he writes. And then there's also Dean Winchester, another journalist who manages to discover all of Castiel's weaknesses within minutes. Though, it doesn't take long for summer days to give way to dark nights where Castiel is haunted by the mistakes he made. Becoming unlikely partners with Dean was never part of the plan, but it's what he gets when an inexplicable event takes place in the woods. The more they uncover, the more Castiel begins to wonder whether reality really is the stuff of his nightmares.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, here's my dcbb for this year!
> 
> I have to thank [Dhvani](http://ackles.tumblr.com/), my friend who sent me encouraging memes as I wrote this story and supported me even when I wanted to give up. Thanks, you loser.
> 
> And I have to thank my incredible artist, [Mal](http://fem-castielnovak.tumblr.com/), who made some really awesome art that you can see [here](http://fem-castielnovak.tumblr.com/post/152055943580/off-the-record-by-charmedcas-art-by) and was lovely to work with. You're the best!
> 
> Okay, onwards.

_"One need not be a chamber to be haunted."_  
-Emily Dickinson

Behind him, an iron gate rattles against the wind. Before him, a sea of gravestones waits. 

His feet follow a familiar path, the turns and curves coming to him as easy as breathing. The air tonight is brisk, nipping at his nose until he can't feel it anymore. When another gust of wind whips at him, Castiel curls his hands into fists and pushes them into the pockets of his trench coat. He wishes he'd worn gloves. 

He comes to a stop in front of two gravestones. The granite stone on the left reads 'Jimmy Novak', while the one on the right says 'Amelia Novak'. Traitorously, Castiel's stomach lurches with guilt as he reads over the inscriptions. Jimmy's is three years old, while Amelia's is only a month. Neither should be there at all.  

Castiel lowers his eyes to the ground before he begins speaking. "I know I shouldn't be here right now, not when I have to get on a plane in a couple hours. But I couldn't leave without knowing that I came here first. I suppose this is my way of getting closure." He breathes out before he goes on, his breath fanning out in a gust of white air. His lips feel chapped even as he runs his tongue over them, and the right words are difficult to find. It feels like just yesterday that Jimmy had been declared dead in the hospital as he, Claire, and Amelia stood at his bedside. Time has a strange way of blurring when Castiel wants it to stop altogether. 

"I still wish things could have been different for all of us. I wish I could just change it all, Jimmy, but I know I can't. Not anymore. What I can try to do is make things better in the future, especially for Claire. She doesn't deserve any of this, not at her age."  

He hears a rustle to the far right of him, and when he turns his head, he sees an middle-aged woman carrying a bouquet of cosmos in her hand. She reaches a tall, marble gravestone and lays the flowers on the ground. They won't last four hours in this weather.  

The next breath he sucks in bites down his throat, until it feels stripped raw, but he tries to ignore the sensation.  

"I don't want this to be like after you died, Jimmy. I can't let Amelia's death be like that," Castiel says. The first year after Jimmy's death was full of alcohol and late nights waiting for sleep to come. He needs to be stronger, if not for himself, then for Claire at least. "So I'm making the promise to make things right once I come back. I promise I will be there for Claire as a friend, if she needs me to be one. I just need a few weeks for this book tour to begin and end. Let me clear my head and then I can start over." A year after Jimmy died, Castiel finally started putting himself back together. He started writing the book he'd always wanted to as a child. He'd managed to craft something that Amelia enjoyed reading, something that Jimmy would have been proud of him for writing.  

Within weeks of being out, his novel had landed on the bestseller's list. And with a sweep of his pen six months later, he had himself a book tour. Amelia had died two weeks later.  

Part of him doesn't want to leave now, but he knows he has to. If he wants to start over, he's going to have to end the chapter he's on now. 

"I promise I'll make things right again," Castiel swears. He turns away from the gravestones with one last glance, his feet moving soundlessly against the grass. The wind continues to push him every which way, guilt still sitting heavy in his stomach. He just needs to tie up this last loose end with the book tour, and then he can come back to Pontiac and figure out what to do next. 

He steps out of the iron-clad gate, trailing back to the rental car that Meg is waiting for him in. As soon as he pulls the door open, Meg looks up from her side in the driver's seat. 

"You good?" She asks, letting out a breath at Castiel's nod. "Alright, then let's get this show on the road." She leans back in her seat and shifts to reverse, pulling out of the mostly empty parking lot. Castiel sticks his numb fingers next to the vent to get warm air on them, an action that Meg notices. "What, you forget to bring gloves with you?" 

"I believe I packed them away by accident. I'll be fine," Castiel shrugs. Pins and needles shoot through his fingers as they continue to warm up. 

"Well," she scoffs, "maybe that's why you don't wait till the last minute to pack."  

"I've been distracted."

"Yeah, no kidding." Her words are like barbed wire, but the quick look she throws him shows real concern. Meg is his manager, but she's also Castiel's friend before that. So, when he asked her to make the detour to the cemetery before going to the airport, she complied easily.

"It's okay. I think things are going to get better once we come back. I know they will," Castiel colors his words with the hope he doesn't want to let himself have.

Meg hums in response. After that, the car falls into silence save for the faint rattling of the heater. Castiel takes one last minute to think back on his promise. If he wants to right his wrongs, he's going to have to earn it. He just needs to get finish the book tour and then he can come back home. Only a few weeks, and then he can come back and start anew.

As the sun begins to set on the way to the airport, he lets himself breathe easier for the first time in months. The knot in his stomach loosens the slightest bit. 

Though, by the time he makes good on his promise, a year and a half has gone by. 


	2. One

Enclosed by forests on both sides, Castiel continues to drift further down the West Coast. A car beside him switches lanes to take the next exit, and it disappears in the blur of cars.  

The gas meter creeps closer and closer to empty until Castiel can't ignore it anymore. Sighing, he pulls off the I-5 S to come to a stop at a highway rest area in Oakridge. His legs feel stiff after sitting dormant for so long, and his head feels heavy, all of his thoughts muddled. Coffee would be good right now. 

Vertigo hits him once he drags himself out of his seat, caught between his car and an old station wagon. His grip on his car door handle tightens until the steel is biting into the crevices of his palm. Closing his eyes, he takes a deep breath in through his nose, getting hit with the sweet smell of pine needles. After a few breaths, he feels the dizziness subside slightly, the fresh air flowing in. Castiel blinks his eyes open and stretches his fingers off of the door handle. 

He goes inside the store and buys a cup of coffee, a bag of pretzels, and a packet of Wild Berry Skittles.

Eight minutes later, he's leaning against his car, a Lincoln Continental he bought four years ago, and watching the cash amount on the gas pump increase. It ticks higher and higher until he gets tired of looking at it, so he turns his face away. Castiel can do one of three things: call Gabriel, call Meg, or do neither of the previous two and stare at the bird a few feet away from him instead. He likes option three the best. 

The bird's wings are speckled, both sky blue and gray, curled in against its body as it pecks at the ground. It approaches him slowly, until it ducks its head and flies away to nearby tree. Almost like a blue jay, but a little bit different. Castiel smiles at it.

When the gas nozzle stills, Castiel pulls it out and takes his card out of the machine. He hasn't paid sixty dollars for a full tank of gas in a while, but that's because he rarely drives anywhere. One of the positives of being a writer is that he can work from home, but that also has its cons. It means Gabriel always knows where to find him when he comes to visit Castiel, and his visits usually end with one or both of them blacking out. Not anymore though, now that he's moving. 

By the time he pulls back onto the road, his cup of coffee is empty, sitting next to a half-finished bag of pretzels. He's feeling more awake than before, but his nerves still have him feeling dizzy. They worsen as the hours tick by, until the GPS on his dashboard is telling him to take the next exit off the highway. He's finally doing what he was supposed to do more than a year ago, but he can't help his nerves. Claire has every right to hate him.

As Castiel approaches Cedar Woods, Oregon, the road begins to slope downhill. With a population of a little under six thousand, it's nothing like Seattle, where he'd been living. It's small, a blink-and-you-miss-it kind of town, but it's where his new house is. It's where Claire is, and he's going to make things right again. He has to. 

The guilt making camp in his stomach gives a familiar twinge as Castiel passes a green sign proclaiming "Welcome to Cedar Woods!". Once he goes through a cluster of trees, his GPS begins to recalculate, making Castiel sigh. He taps out a beat on his steering wheel while it remaps the route, finally loading and telling him to turn left. The town must have terrible connection. 

A strange chill runs through him as he passes a seemingly abandoned street, even though the temperature outside is pushing eighty degrees. 

When he finally does get to civilization, what he sees is quite different from what he expected. 

Dotted all along the street he's on are groups of people, some chatting, some laughing, and all of them fail to notice him. The storefronts of the street pop out, colored in deep reds and yellows, giving off a homey feel. Flowerbeds line both the sidewalks, marigolds and lilies among the mix. A shopkeeper flips the sign on his store from 'open' to 'closed'. At the stoplight, a brunette walks across the street, hand-in-hand with another girl.

He must be on the Main Street in town.

Castiel drives away from the commotion and continues on his way.  As he pulls into his new driveway, he turns the GPS and car off, then climbs out to take his first real look at the house.

Its outside is a dull, red brick, with brown window shutters and a tan door. The grass on the lawn seems freshly cut, almost gleaming in the dying out, evening sun. On the front porch is a small, plaid sofa and a frosted glass table. The house sits on the corner of the street.

He walks up the stoned pathway to the porch, his footsteps creaking against the wood planks. The door looms high and mighty above him, and Castiel notices the intricate brass doorknob. On his key ring is a silver key for the house, one that Gabriel gave him when he took care of the moving for Castiel. Gabriel had hired a moving company for his boxes and furniture last week, then had flown back to Seattle to hand him the keys. Because if Castiel had to make the big move himself, he's not sure he would have made it past mile fifty. 

When he pushes the front door open, he's pleasantly surprised to see how much natural light floods the rooms. It spills over onto the hardwood flooring, from the dining room to the kitchen to the main living room. Piled in the living room, however, are the boxes the moving company placed into the room, under Gabriel's supervision. Littering the floor, the labels he placed on them stand out in the light. Long hours of unpacking await.

Before he can do that, he needs a shower, food, and sleep. Preferably in that order.

A breeze ruffles his shirt when he goes back outside to his car to grab the two duffel bags stowed in his trunk. He'd been living on for the past week. Walking back into his house, Castiel makes a pit stop at the kitchen to throw away the trash from his car, then trudges up the steps to where his bedroom and bathroom are. It's not that big of a house. Three bedrooms, two and a half bathrooms, and a small backyard. 

He passes by the first bedroom, which will be the guestroom, and goes into the second door, where his room will be. Across the hallway, there's a bathroom and an extra room, which he'll make his formal office. If he ever gets back to novel writing, that is.

His bed is, thankfully, already set up, but the mattress remains bare. Castiel pads across the floor to it, pushing the bed closer to the window by the right wall. He then dumps one duffel bag on the floor and begins picking through the other one, digging out his gray towel along with a t-shirt and sweatpants. 

Inside his bathroom, he sets his clothes on the closed lid of the toilet and rests his towel on the rack. Stripping out of his clothes, he notes how empty the bathroom looks with no rugs or even a garbage can. Luckily, there's already a shower curtain hung.

The hot water soothes his skin as soon as he steps into it. He stands under the spray for a couple minutes and allows his mind to blank out, all his worries and fear melting away in favor of the steam clouding his vision. He's in Cedar Woods and is going to start doing what he should have done months ago. This is a good thing.

His fingers grope for a bar or bottle of soap until he realizes he forgot to bring one inside the shower with him. 

When he does dry himself off, the mirror opposite him is fogged up. He steps out the bathroom and towels off his wet hair, then unceremoniously dumps the towel onto the bed. Now that the shower is taken care of, he can focus on food.

Of course, his fridge and pantry have nothing in them, so he's going to have to drive into town to get dinner. Unless he comes across a stack of takeout menus in one of the drawers, but the chances of that occurring are zero to nil. Or he could just go upstairs and skip to sleep.

The chime of the doorbell drags him out of his thoughts. How can there be someone at the door?

He crosses from the kitchen to the front door quickly, leaning up to look through the peep hole, and seeing a familiar woman on the porch. Deciding to take his chances, he pulls the door open to reveal Jody Mills, dressed in purple plaid and jeans. In her right hand is a white bag with a smiley face on it.

"Hi, Castiel. Long time no see," Jody greets.

"Hello, Jody. How'd you know I would be here already?"

"Your cousin Gabriel called me last week and gave me the heads up that you were coming today. I figured you would be here by now, and I better welcome you to town and all." Castiel squints in confusion for a moment until he remembers that Jody is the town sheriff, so maybe she has a habit of visiting new residents in a town this small. And there's also the fact that she's met Castiel before, and also is Claire's guardian. Probably a combination of all three.

"Oh, thank you. Please come in," he says, stepping out of the doorway. Jody enters the house, keeping her shoes on, and goes over to the dining room, setting the bag in her hand down on the wooden table.

"I brought you some Chinese food to eat for dinner. I didn't really know what you liked, so I just ordered whatever Claire and Alex usually get." 

Castiel widens his eyes. "Oh, you didn't have to-" 

"You've been driving for hours, and you probably haven't eaten anything substantial all day," Jody guesses, and she's right. 

The last time Castiel saw her, it had been at Amelia's funeral, when she told Castiel that she was going to take Claire into her home, that she already had another teen living with her for as long as necessary. Even from that one meeting, Castiel could tell that Jody was a good person, and much more equipped than himself to take care of Claire. And that had been that.

"Thank you again." Castiel pulls open the bag, seeing a menu for a place called The Red Dragon inside. 

"How was the trip? Long?" 

"Not any more than I thought it would be," Castiel shrugs. Opening the first take out container reveals Kung Pao chicken. He grabs a pair of chopsticks out of the bag and pulls out the chair closest to him. "Have you already eaten?"

Jody pulls out the chair across from him but doesn't reach for any food. "Yeah, I got out of work a couple hours ago and had dinner with some friends before coming here. Alex and Claire went out for food tonight too, or I would've gone home first and brought you what they made." Jody says, and just like that, Castiel's stomach suddenly feels all too heavy. 

Castiel left Claire. That's a fact. He didn't leave her to fend for herself. She has Jody and Alex and whatever other friends she has made in town. _But she doesn't have her family_ , a voice sing-songs in his head, one that sounds just like Jimmy. He ignores it. 

He promised to come back to help Claire right after his book tour. That was a lie. 

"How is she doing? Claire, I mean?" Castiel holds his breath while he waits for the answer. 

"She's good. Well, as good as she can be at seventeen," Jody says wryly. 

"Did you tell her I was coming to live here?" He places a piece of chicken in his mouth and chews it slowly. 

"I did a couple weeks ago. She didn't really take it well. I mean, what's going on between you and her is none of my business, but I can tell that she needs a little more time." From his conversations with Jody over the phone for the last year, Castiel knows that Claire harbors no good feelings for him. Hasn't since Jimmy died. And definitely not after Amelia passed. 

Castiel puts another piece of chicken in his mouth and swallows it quickly, "Right well, I won't stop by just yet."

"Actually, I was gonna invite you to dinner next Sunday? I figure that gives you a little over a week to get settled in before you and Claire talk, and Claire can maybe cool down some more by then." Right, he and Claire haven't spoken in a year and a half. 

"I'll try to be there."

"I know it's gonna take a while, but Claire just needs time. She'll come around to you." Jody offers him a sympathetic smile. 

"I hope so." Across from him, Jody rises to her feet, pulling her chair back into place at the table. 

"Well, I'd love to stay and help you out with unpacking, but I gotta get home soon. Maybe I can come by this weekend and help you out a little?"

"No, it's alright. I think I'll be able to manage by myself. The moving company Gabriel hired did most of the hard work two days ago." 

She laughs. "Yeah, well, I'm sure they did with him hounding their asses." Jody says, making her way back out the door. She pauses on the first step down the porch. "I met him when he was at the diner in town, and I could hardly believe you two were related. But I could tell that he's a good guy."

"He's been more involved than myself in the moving process," Castiel admits. 

"Well, it's nice to know you have a cousin that cares so much. See you around, Castiel." Jody waves at him and turns around, going back to a pickup truck, one that looks aged but still well loved. 

Castiel waits until the rumble of her engine disappears, and then he slips back into his house, locking the door behind him. Now that he takes a good look, he actually doesn't have that many boxes to unpack, which makes things a lot easier. Getting here is the most progress he's made on his promise. But his fingers still twitch when he thinks about all the mistakes he's made. 

He pads across to his dining room, silently finishing his chicken and rice. A look inside the take-away bag reveals a container of noodles, which he takes to the kitchen to save for later. 

Sighing, he resigns himself to long day of unpacking tomorrow, and goes upstairs to his bedroom, fumbling blindly for the light switch. Flicking it on, he creeps to his bed and rolls onto it, the bone-deep weariness pulling him under after a long day of driving and worrying. 

He falls asleep on the bare mattress, with no pillow under his head, and the lights still on. 

• • •

Upon waking up, Castiel is immediately aware of the crick in his neck, and the sunlight slanting into his eyes. With a groan, he sits up and rubs his knuckles into his eyes. He then pulls his phone out of his jeans pocket, seeing the black numbers tell him that it's half past eight o'clock and he somehow slept for over eleven hours. Well, he _was_ really tired.

His back aches as he gets out of bed and grabs his duffel bag to take out his toothbrush and other toiletries. After he gets basic things put into the bathroom, he takes another shower. 

Castiel walks to his kitchen to reach for his coffee machine, running a hand along the countertop. It takes a few seconds for it to click that his coffee machine is packed away in one of the boxes that he doesn't want to take time to look into. He needs coffee _now_. 

It also wouldn't hurt to do some grocery shopping, so he goes out of the house, keys jingling faintly in his palm. The boxes can wait a while. 

Locking his car door, Castiel realizes that he doesn't really know his way to any coffee shops, but hopefully there's one on Main Street. He goes back the way he came from yesterday, no cars in front of him, but that's probably because everyone already left for work. The sunlight filters his car with warm air as a couple cars move ahead of him on the road. Slowly, he edges down Main Street, looking for any places that sells coffee. Maybe he'll get lucky and find a Starbucks.

What he stops at is a small coffee shop, right across the street from a diner. He shuffles out of his car, the slight wind doing nothing to cool the hot air. It sticks to his skin until he feels like he's going to melt.

A bell rings out above him as Castiel enters the shop. It's small, with one exposed brick wall, along with some small tables along the sides. A few people are sitting inside, but Castiel pays them no attention as he drifts closer to the sweet smell of coffee behind the counter, until he's standing right next to a tired teenager. She raises her eyebrows at him instead of verbally asking for his order.

"Can I have a medium hot coffee? Cream and sugar?" Castiel begins pulling out his wallet, but a stack of newspapers to the right of the counter catches his eyes. "And add one newspaper to the total," he says, taking one from the small pile and placing it on the counter.

"You sure you want that? It's from Sunday," the girl, whose name tag reads Krissy, tells him. It's Friday, but if he's going to be working at the newspaper come Monday, he'd like to look at it and get a feel for it. 

"Yes, please."

"Alright," Krissy shrugs. "Your total is $3.66." 

Castiel passes her a five dollar bill, and she gives him back his change. He goes over to stand on the side of the counter, watching as another worker prepares his coffee. Once the steaming cup is in his hand, Castiel glances down at the newspaper clasped between two fingers.  C _edar Woods Weekly_. It's the small town newspaper that Castiel applied to when he bought the house. He wants to stay away from novel writing for a while, and figures that journalism suits him fine as well. Naomi, the Editor in Chief, accepted his application easily, and gave him the spot of a feature writer. He should read last week's paper if he wants to know what is expected of him.

Focused on not dropping his coffee while simultaneously trying to read the paper, Castiel practically falls into the first empty seat he sees, easing the newspaper and coffee down onto the wooden table. The chair he's sitting in is more comfortable than he thought it would be. He brings the cup up to his lips to blow on the coffee before taking a sip. 

"Hi there," a deep voice says, startling him enough that he almost spills his coffee all over the newspaper and table, but he's able to catch it in time. Looking up, he sees a man about his age, with sandy brown hair, a spattering of freckles across his cheeks, and bright green eyes watching him with amusement. He's dressed in soft, worn flannel with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, an identical coffee cup resting in front of him, along with an open laptop. 

"I'm sorry, I didn't know this table was taken," Castiel apologizes, making to get up out of his seat. His cheeks heat in embarrassment. 

"Nah, it's fine. I don't mind the company." The man leans forward in his chair, still looking at Castiel with an amused quirk to his lips as Castiel fumbles while bringing his coffee cup to his lips. He supposes he wouldn't mind talking to the man for a bit. "Long morning?"

Castiel blows at the open lip of the lid, before taking a quick sip of it. The coffee burns his tongue slightly, but he relishes its bittersweet taste. It's practically perfect. "Not exactly."

"Ah," the man says, trailing his eyes over Castiel's face, studying his features, "long night then?" He winks at the end, still grinning.

Looking to the side, Castiel lets out a huff. "No, that's not it either."

The man _hmms_ at that, but then his attention is drawn to the newspaper Castiel is smoothing down. "You're reading that now? It's Friday."

"I'm aware of that, but better late than never, right?." Castiel looks down at the top article, written about the town's summer camp reopening. "I'm guessing you've already read this?"

"Yeah, you could say that," the man chuckles. He clicks something on his laptop screen, then closes the lid of it.

Castiel takes another pull of his coffee, catching the man staring at the column of his throat. "Do people read the paper a lot in this town?"

The man puts his laptop into a case, then places it by the right leg of his chair. "Well, Cedar Woods isn't exactly buzzing with entertainment. So it's not a surprise that everyone and their grandmother like to read the paper and talk about it. Gossip about it, if you're in Wednesday book club. Reading the paper is basically part of people's Sunday morning routine."

"So everyone is subscribed to it?"

"Well, I wouldn't say that. But most folks are. I mean, it usually gets delivered anywhere from seven to eight in the morning. So reading it over a cup of coffee is what most people do. It's what I do, anyways."

"That's a lot different than what I'm used to. I normally just read articles online." Back in Seattle, Castiel didn't have any newspaper subscriptions, but he read a few stories from _The Seattle Times_ when he found them. That isn't the same as a small town paper, though. Not at all.

"Why? Grow up in the city?"

"I've moved around a lot and actually, it's been mostly cities, but also towns too. Never a town as small as this, though," Castiel admits. 

"Are you just passing through here? Or are you looking to stick around for a while?"

When Castiel sips at his coffee this time, it seems to have warmed down. "The latter."

"Really? We don't see a lot of people coming into town to stay these days. Anything in particular draw you here?"

Castiel's mind jumps to Claire, and he swallows the sudden dark taste in his mouth, then washes it away with a mouthful of coffee. "I would say unfinished business, but it's more complicated than that," Castiel says.

"Are you always this cryptic?" The man leans back in his chair, taking hold of his own coffee cup and toying with the lid.

"Maybe I'm not in the business of revealing things to strangers. Especially not before a full cup of coffee. Though, I admit that this shop has some of the best coffee I've had in a while." 

"You're telling me. I've been coming here for years, and I still don't know what the hell they do to make the coffee taste so good. I've been trying to get Krissy to tell me for months, but she won't budge," the man says, nodding toward the counter where Krissy still is.

"Years? Did you grow up here?"

The man opens and closes his mouth twice, before shrugging his shoulders. "Sorta."

"What do you mean by that?" 

"I mean, technically speaking, the answer is no. But to me, it feels like yes." His green eyes dance with mischief in the bands of sunlight streaming in from the window. 

"Who's the cryptic one now?" Castiel says, causing a crooked grin to tilt across the other man's face. 

He seems to come to a decision, reaching across the space to hold out a hand to Castiel. "I'm Dean." The smile Dean gives him is radiant.

Castiel shakes Dean's hand, feeling Dean's calloused palms smooth over his. "Castiel."

A small wrinkle forms between Dean's eyebrows, and he pulls his hand out of Castiel's grip. His smile dims. "Castiel? As in Castiel Nov-"

"Dean!" A woman with brilliant red hair appears next toDean at their table, a laptop bag held at her side. "We need to get going right now. Hannah just texted again."

Turning to look at her, the wrinkle on Dean's forehead deepens. "Really? I just sent in the corrected version a few minutes ago."

"I'm sure there's nothing wrong with it, but we still gotta go." The woman finally notices Castiel sitting at the table with Dean, and her eyes widen when she speaks to him. "Crap, sorry, I thought Dean just came here for a coffee run. I didn't know he was meeting someone."

"I'm not," Dean answers for Castiel, then pushes back in his chair. He takes his laptop bag from the floor and his empty coffee cup from the table, sparing Castiel one last glance with narrowed eyes before looking back to the redhead. "I was just leaving."

"But-" The woman glances at Castiel, noting how he hasn't spoken a word yet, and then looks back to where Dean has gone to the door. She probably decides that getting to wherever she needs to go is more important right now than meeting a stranger, and makes her way to the door. Throwing Castiel an apologetic look, she leaves.

Castiel sits back in his chair, draining the last few dregs of coffee at the bottom of his cup. He's at a loss for words for what just happened. Dean seemed friendly and open enough, right up until Castiel told Dean his name. Maybe Dean knows of his books and isn't a fan of him, but he doubts that's the case. Castiel must have done something to upset him, somehow. But he may or may not ever see Dean again. Although, with a town this small, they'll probably run into each other sometime eventually. After all, Dean did say that he comes to this coffee shop all the time, and Castiel will definitely be coming back here. 

For now, he gathers up the newspaper in one hand and his coffee cup in the other, depositing the cup into the trash can on his way out the door. 

He goes back to his car, stowing the paper in the passenger seat beside him. His mind wanders for a second before he remembers what he's supposed to do next. Right, groceries. He goes driving to the store he remembers seeing on his way in yesterday, putting his encounter with Dean on the back burner. He can think about that later.

By the time he does get home, Castiel's arms are filled with grocery bags. He sets them onto the floor of the kitchen, then begins working his way through them. Sorting through his items, ranging from limes to chicken to fresh mozzarella, takes the better part of an hour. He still needs to buy a few more things, but that can wait till next week. And if he needs to cook tonight, it's better if he unpacks his kitchen supplies now. Luckily, he finds the stacked pile of boxes labeled with "kitchen" easily, and goes about arranging everything into his cabinets. He's not much of a cook, since he used to eat takeout more often than not in Seattle, but he doubts there's many takeaway restaurants in town here. So if that means learning how to cook, then he'll try to do his best. And if there's a fire in the kitchen one day, then well, he'll cross that bridge when he gets to it. 

For lunch, he heats up leftover noodles from last night, sitting at the two person table in the corner of the kitchen. While he eats, he uses his phone to look through emails and texts, answering back Meg and Gabriel. He doesn't want to call them just yet, not if he's not sure if he really feels settled yet. The town is foreign to him, and even going to the grocery store felt wrong. As if he were an outsider looking through a window to see the town. But he's a part of it now, and he knows he can't run away. Not when he's finally stopped running after almost two years. 

And it's not just that he needs to fulfill his promise, it's that this chapter of his life will never be complete if he doesn't stay here. When he wrote, whether it was at one in the morning or mid-afternoon, he never let himself stray away until scenes were complete. Or at least a paragraph was. Because he knows that when he leaves something unfinished, it nags at him until he can't take it anymore and goes to start over. This time though, there's no reset button. He can't magically bring Jimmy and Amelia back to life. He can't just go back and do the right thing as Claire's uncle and friend and be there for her after Jimmy or Amelia passed. 

Closing his eyes, he wishes, not for the first time and certainly not for the last, that he could go back and change things. 

When Castiel opens his eyes again, he notices that he hasn't opened the curtains of the large window in the kitchen yet. Abandoning his chopsticks, he gets up and pushes aside the navy curtains, tucking the cloth into the side. He twirls open the blinds, until a healthy stream of sunlight is bathing the room. It makes him think of the way the sunlight had looked in this morning, trailing over Dean's green eyes, bringing out the small specks of gold in them. He also thinks of how Dean dismissed him so quickly, so he pushes thoughts of the other man away.

After lunch, he goes out into his living room to start opening up some boxes. The quicker he gets things unpacked, the harder it'll be for him to give in to the urge to leave. 

The first box he picks up is neatly labeled "office" so he carries it up the stairs to place it there. The room is bare save for the desk and chair in the corner, along with two empty bookshelves. Eventually, he hopes he can put in a sofa or table in the room, and maybe even a large rug. The hardwood floor will leave the room chilled in the winter. 

Thinking ahead that far makes an unexpected chill rush down his spine, even though it's pretty warm in the house. Rather than open the box now, he leaves the room to deal with it later. 

Castiel goes back downstairs and walks around the house carrying boxes to their appropriate rooms, the floor creaking underneath his bare feet. 

The last box at the bottom of the pile is labeled "pictures", so Castiel brings it up into his bedroom, placing the box on his mattress. Most likely, the pictures will be going on the wall, since many are paintings to hang up, but a few of them are picture frames that he previously placed on his bedside table or on his dresser, and that's where they should still be. 

He knows he shouldn't, but he still goes back downstairs to get a pocket knife from where he left it on the kitchen counter, then moves back upstairs. His knife slides easily along the tape, and with two hands, he pushes open the box. Dust has collected among a couple of the pictures, but he pulls them out and lays them on his bedroom floor. 

Castiel can't help but look for the two pictures he shouldn't be looking for. The heart has a strange way of longing for the things it shouldn't. 

Reaching through the pile, he pulls out the two frames without giving it another thought. The frame on top is dark brown, and inside it is a photograph of him and Jimmy back when Castiel had graduated from high school. Jimmy had been twenty-four, already having a steady job selling advertisements for the family's company. In the picture, they both have smiles on their faces. Only two weeks after it was taken, Castiel had the fight with his extended family, and he and Jimmy barely talked for the next five years. If only he had known then what he knows now, he never would have let his relationship with Jimmy get strained. 

It's an old wound, but it still hurts so much so that Castiel sinks to the ground, still clutching the picture frames. He sets the first one aside, then feels his throat tighten when he looks at the next one, where he sees the picture of his family, though two people in the picture are nothing but ghosts now.

Amelia had insisted that they take one picture of the four of them, during Claire's twelfth birthday. Taken in their living room, Amelia, Claire, he, and Jimmy are all bunched together onto the couch, Castiel perched between Claire and Jimmy. It's an image that used to make him cry, sometimes even making him drink himself to sleep.

As he sets it face down onto the floor, he regrets not buying beer on his shopping trip today. In fact, he doesn't have any alcohol with him right now. No beer, whiskey, or even scotch. Fuck.

Making a decision, he gets up and takes the picture frames with him, going down to his fireplace and placing both images onto the stone. Castiel then turns away from it and goes back to unpacking the rest of the boxes.

• • •

On his way out of the house on Monday morning, Castiel takes a granola bar to eat in the car. It's his first day at work and he'd rather not be late and make a bad impression.

On Saturday, he'd finished getting everything unpacked, even pulling apart the boxes and putting them outside on the curb so the trash could pick them up. He'd also finally put down sheets and a pillow onto his bed, then taken a nap on it for two hours. 

Yesterday, he'd woken up and drove into town to get the paper, then came back home to read it and the one from the previous week. If he's going to be working there, he wonders if he'll have to pay for his own newspaper subscription. 

Unpacking had distracted him from thinking about Claire, but also from thinking about his new job as a journalist. He hasn't worked at an actual building in three years, since he'd eventually taken up writing on his own time. If he's lucky, no one will really recognize him or talk to him about his book,  _The Woodlands_.

When he gets into town, the sky is cloudier than usual, but he manages to find his way into the town square, parking in front of a large building with four white pillars in front of it. Getting out of the car, the air hits his skin and he can already feel the humidity seeping across him. A bird flies away from the ground as he approaches it, making his way up the stoned pathway to get inside the building. The _Cedar Woods Weekly_ office looks grander than he thought it would be, and Castiel is more intimidated than he has any right to be.

Pushing open the door, he's hit with the smell of cinnamon and black coffee. Looking around, Castiel sees a front desk, but there's no one sitting behind it. In front of it, however, is a woman with wavy brown hair, staring down at a clipboard. 

Castiel walks toward her, clearing his throat. "Hello, I'm looking for Naomi?" The last time he spoke to Naomi, she had given him this job. He wonders if this woman is she, and if it is, he hopes she doesn't mind that he addressed her by only her first name.

The woman looks up with a small smile. "You must be Castiel. I'm Hannah." She doesn't extend a hand to shake, but that may be because she has her clipboard in one hand, a red pen held in the other. "I'll go let Naomi know you're here."

When she leaves him alone, Castiel becomes aware of all the activity in the room. A group of people are huddled around the doorway of what looks like a break room. A man pushes a cart full of papers into an adjacent doorway. A fan whirs on in the corner of the room, while another woman types away at her desk. For a Monday morning, the room is full of energy. 

A woman approaches him, wearing a gray pantsuit, her hair fashioned into a tight bun. This must be Naomi.

"Hello, Castiel. Nice to meet you in person." She nods her toward a door to left. "Shall we talk in my office?" 

Naomi turns away from him, and Castiel follows her, walking into a moderately-sized office, with a large desk against the far window. There are filing cabinets to the right of the desk, and a small sofa and table is tucked into the front corner. Naomi gestures for him to sit at one of the two chairs in front of the desk, and he sinks into it. The seat is comfortable and he tries to relax.

"Now, I am very glad you've decided to take the job. The paper has needed someone new for a long time, and you're more than fit for this position," she states. 

"Thank you," Castiel says, placing his palms over his knees.  

Naomi focuses on straightening up the pile of papers on her desk as she speaks. "I know you may think this newspaper is unimportant, but for the Cedar Woods community, it is essential. So I expect the same work ethic in you that I expect in anyone else."

As the editor-in-chief, Naomi seems to be both organized and confident. Castiel doesn't know whether she is to be admired or to be feared. Probably both.

"I'll do my best," Castiel promises.

Naomi nods, then flicks her eyes to the clock. "It's almost nine. On Mondays at eight o'clock, Victor, our managing editor, and I have a meeting with everyone to discuss who will be getting what story for the week. Therefore, you will be expected to get here by eight next week. You won't be writing a story this week, but rather, you can come here and observe some of the other feature writers as they go about their writing, so you can be eased into how things work around here. 

"Now, each team likes to conduct their writing process differently, so I won't tell you our set schedule, but I will say that any story you write needs to be submitted at midnight by Thursday so our copy editors can meet and read through all of them by the time they speak to you again on Friday morning. As a feature writer, your stories may be with a partner and take longer than a week to complete." Naomi folds her hands in her laps. "Do you have any questions?"

Castiel knows the difference between a feature writer and a news writer, since the latter focuses more on recent events, while a feature writer usually takes the time to fill in all the blanks before they write. 

In college, he used to write for the school paper, but writing about college events is a world away from writing about the day-to-day happenings in a town he doesn't know. His stomach swims with nerves, and Castiel is reminded that he forgot to eat the granola bar he brought with him.

"No, I don't think so," Castiel answers.

"Excellent." Naomi pushes back from her chair, then stands up, making Castiel do the same. She moves over to one of the filing cabinets and pulls out a thick manilla folder. "Here is a little history about our paper and the town. Please make sure to read it all," she says, handing the file to him. "Now, I'll let you meet our other feature writers." Her heels clack against the tiles as she moves to the door, Castiel following in her wake. She leads him down the hall and into the main area of the building, where the space is filled with sections of desks. More people are seated than there had been five minutes ago. In the front of the space is a large whiteboard where names are written next to categories. Those must be the stories everyone has been assigned for the week. 

Naomi continues to lead him toward the back of the room. As he passes, many people turn to look at him from their desks, and he hears his name whispered over and over. Everyone is dressed in business casual clothing, and Castiel feels self-conscious wearing a shirt with a blue tie, along with dress pants. He had forgone the suit jacket when he'd remembered the heat outside.

When Naomi comes to a stop at the last two rows of desks, Castiel sees three people.

To his left, a boy who looks to be in his early twenties stares up at him in awe, a smile on his face. In front of him is a laptop, where Castiel sees the desktop background is of him and two women.

To his right, Castiel looks to see a familiar redhead smiling at him with a furrow between her brows. A mug with a Hufflepuff emblem is held halfway to her lips, and her desk is covered in picture frames, along with three bobble-heads. She snaps when she seems to realize the last place she saw him in. Which was on Friday at the coffee shop. He hopes she doesn't bring it up. 

Because the last person Castiel sees is Dean, who is squeezing a pen in his right hand, one that's a second away from bursting out ink all over his fingers. The glare on his face has Castiel's eyes flitting away quickly, so Castiel looks back at Naomi.

"Your work station will be that one," Naomi says, pointing to a desk on Dean's right. "I'll leave you to make your own introductions," she says, leaving him with two strangers and one man who seems to hate him.

Castiel fidgets awkwardly, familiar panic settling through his bones, until the redhead bounces up out of her chair, sets down her mug with a thunk, and extends a hand toward Castiel. Her red nail polish is slightly chipped.

"Hi! I'm Charlie Bradbury. Nice to meet you!" 

He gives her a quick handshake. "I'm Castiel Novak."

"Well," she says, rolling her eyes, "duh, of course. Everyone around here knows who you are."

"Yeah." the Asian boy to his left gets out of his seat, leaning against his desk. "Naomi told us about you last week. I'm Kevin Tran."

Castiel internally sighs as he realizes that he won't be able to keep his novel a secret. It would have come out eventually, he guesses. 

Charlie casts a look at Dean, raising her eyebrows when she sees the look on Dean's face. "What's up with you?" She asks him.

Dean gets up out of his seat, finally setting the poor pen down, then shrugs at Charlie. "Just tired," he says. "I'm going to get another cup of coffee." He gives Castiel a hard look, then starts walking toward him, eventually knocking into his shoulder when Castiel fails to move out of the way, since he's frozen in place. The man in front of him is nothing like the man he met yesterday at the coffee shop. Well, he's nothing like the guy he was talking to prior to introducing themselves to each other.

Giving Charlie and Kevin a small shrug when they look between Dean and him in confusion, he walks to his empty desk and sits down in the chair, making the wheels on it roll back a little.

"Sorry about Dean, I don't know what's gotten into him." Charlie goes back to her chair, spinning around to face Castiel, where he sits diagonally across from her. 

"It's alright. I'm not exactly a morning person either," Castiel says. Probably the understatement of the year. 

Charlie's mouth pulls down into a small frown. "Still, though, he's never like this." She taps her fingers on the arm of her chair as if in thought. "And didn't you guys talk to each other on Friday?"

So much for hoping she doesn't bring that up. "Not really. We just exchanged names," he lies.

"Hmm, maybe it is just the Monday morning blues then." 

"In any case," Kevin interjects, "me and Charlie should be telling you about how things work around here."

The explanation he gets is that Mondays are spent researching and planning out a story, Tuesdays are spent interviewing relevant people, Wednesdays are for conducting any last interviews, and then getting back to the office to piece things together. On Thursday, stories are expected by midnight, sometimes even two stories if you've been assigned more than one. And for this week, he just has to go along with Charlie or Kevin tomorrow during the interviews. 

It doesn't seem to difficult, but then again, nothing ever does at first.

By the time Charlie and Kevin have finished their explanation, Dean comes back from wherever he ran off to in order to avoid Castiel. What could be his problem? 

Dean retreats back to his desk, an aisle across from Castiel, and powers up the laptop on his desk. When he catches Castiel looking over at him, he rolls his eyes. 

Castiel looks away from him and focuses on the file Naomi gave him, opening it to find what seems like hundreds of printed articles about the paper. Wonderful. Maybe he can go around introducing himself to people later on today, but he'd rather not do that. Talking to new people has never exactly been his strong suit. So he roams his eyes over the articles, already wishing he had another cup of coffee to drink. Halfway through a story about the town's library, his eyes fall to examine the wood grain of desk he's sitting at. Most people that he passed had pictures on their desks, along with other decorations like cup holders or even flowers.

Castiel quickly thinks of bringing in a picture of him and Jimmy, but then decides against it. Then someone might ask who the man in the picture is, and Castiel would have to explain what happened. He's not quite ready for pitying looks from strangers just yet.

Within minutes, he feels his attention drifting away so much that he's read the same line over five times, and none of the words have registered in his brain. So he looks back at Dean out of the corner of his eye, who's reading something on his laptop. Eventually, Charlie puts in headphones and Kevin drifts away from his desk, so Castiel feels it's safe to talk to Dean. 

"You're just not going to say anything to me?" 

Dean flicks his eyes over to Castiel, pursing his lips. "No, I don't think I am."

"Are you gonna give me a reason why you're being an ass, or am I supposed to guess why?"

Dean shrugs, his tan Henley showing off the muscles in his arms. "I'm cryptic, remember?"

Castiel squints at him as Dean turns his attention back to his laptop, trying to puzzle Dean out, but he can't. He tried to make one friend, but it didn't even pan out. That could either be because Dean's just a dick, or it could be his own fault, like it usually is.

With a sigh, he goes back to reading, ignoring the nausea creeping through him inch by inch. 


	3. Two

Castiel sighs, drawing his knees onto the sofa to tuck his toes along the edge of the cushion. He doesn't want to waste time dwelling on the things he can't fix, but he can't help it. For now, he tries to push it to the darkest corner of his mind, and focuses on drinking his coffee. It's grown lukewarm with how long he's been sitting and staring at his lawn. The minutes seem to go by quicker and quicker as he drains his mug, and when Castiel next checks the time on his phone, it's half past nine. He has to be at work in half an hour.

He stands up from his sofa and rushes back inside, stowing his mug in the kitchen sink while going straight upstairs. Technically, it only takes ten minutes to get to the town square, but he needs to shower and change still.

Rushing through his morning routine, he's able to get ready and dressed by a quarter to ten, so he takes one last look in the mirror and heads downstairs. His stomach twinges with hunger as he steps into his car. He really needs to start eating actual food for breakfast instead of just coffee.

Not having to show up at work until ten is quite nice, and it's a Friday. Even though he's not doing anything this weekend besides going to Jody's. And right, he's supposed to be keeping that thought far, far away.

He parks his car slowly, reluctant to leave the air conditioning of his car. Eventually, he climbs out and into the heat, the sun beating down on his back as he approaches the stone pillars. Swinging the door open, he breathes in the cool air, which smells a little like cinnamon, as it always does. He goes through the room to his desk, even though he's not sure why he's going there. Really, he's just going to be sitting there for the next few hours and trying to stay out of Charlie and Kevin's way.

When he gets to his desk though, Kevin and Charlie are nowhere to be found, and instead, it's Dean and Victor standing there. Dean's perched on the edge of his desk, a pad of paper in one hand. He throws his head back in a laugh at something Victor said to him, but once he catches sight of Castiel, his humor is all but gone.

Victor turns to look at him with a smile, while Dean just stares at him, and Castiel is overcome with the urge to go right back to his car and drive back to his house.

"Hi there, Castiel," Victor says. He and Castiel had met each other the other day.

"Hello, Victor," he greets. Then, he begrudgingly adds, "And Dean." In response, Dean says nothing.

Victor, however, moves away from Dean and towards Castiel. "I was actually just waiting here to talk to you. You have a minute?"

"Yes, I think so. Is something wrong?" Behind Victor, Castiel sees Dean move to sit in his seat, pulling out his laptop from his bag.

"No, nothing's wrong. i just wanted to catch you before I have to go talk to Naomi." As a managing editor, Victor must be involved in creating the layout for the week's paper. Today must be even harder for the copy editors, Hannah and Ezekiel, as they talk to everyone about any changes they need to make to their stories. "Now, this is going to be a weird question, since you work here and all, but Naomi really wanted me to ask first."

When Victor doesn't continue on further, Castiel prompts, "Yes?"

"So, Naomi was hoping that you'd be up to being interviewed next week. So that there can be a story about you in the paper, since you're a writer and all." After seeing Castiel blank expression, he rushes to say, "Obviously, you don't have to say yes to this. You don't owe anyone shit, and it wouldn't be the end of the world if you said no. Naomi just thought it would be cool to feature a story about you. Chuck or someone could write it."

Dean gives a scoff from where he's half hidden by Victor, but Victor just looks at Castiel, waiting for his answer. The thing is, Castiel would rather not have himself featured in the paper. He's not a well-known writer by anyone's standards, but some people do know him. But having everyone know about him in town makes him feel uneasy, like an ant under a magnifying glass.

"Would it be something long?"

Victor shrugs. "I'm not sure how long Naomi wants it, but no, probably not."

"I don't know if I'm ready for anything being written about me specifically," Castiel replies.

"I mean, it wouldn't be a big thing at all. Just a couple questions about you coming here and about your book."

"But I'm not certain that I want a big deal made out of my moving here." And he doesn't. He came here to make amends and start over, not flaunt his success.

"Well, it's your decision, but if you don't want to, then well, you don't want to. I just figured there was no harm in asking." Victor gives him another small smile, then turns away from him, but before he can leave, Castiel's hand darts out and wraps quickly around Victor's elbow.

"Wait, no, I'll do it," Castiel decides. Well, that wasn't what he wanted to say. Not at all.

"You sure? If it'll make things awkward for you, then you don't have to."

"No, it's no problem," Castiel lies.

"Great! I'll go tell Naomi," Victor says, walking away.

Castiel is still trying to comprehend what he just did when he becomes aware of the sound of someone slowly clapping. He turns to look at the source, which is Dean. Of course.

Dean leans back in his chair with a grin on his face. "Not an Oscar worthy performance, but I gotta admit, it wasn't bad. You really had me going there for awhile."

"Excuse me?"

Rolling his eyes, Dean answers, "I'm talking about you back there, talking to Victor. You acted like you didn't really want to have a story written about you, but obviously, you do. Nice way to downplay it, though. You almost fooled me."

Castiel narrows his eyes at Dean, straying close to stare Dean down. "Look, I still don't know what your problem is, but don't act like you know anything about me." His voice comes out chilled, and it has Dean's grin faltering.

"Trust me, people like you are all the same. You act like you don't love the attention you get, but you do."

"You're wrong."

"Am I, though?" Dean quirks an eyebrow at him.

"Yes, you are." Gritting his teeth, Castiel turns away from Dean before he can say anything he'll regret. He's supposed to be ignoring Dean, not antagonizing him, even if it's Dean that spoke to him first.

Castiel goes back to his chair, using his hands to roll himself closer to the desk. Its surface is still a little sticky.

For the next couple hours, people filter in and out of the room, while Castiel watches in something similar to amusement. He focuses on going on his own laptop and answering emails that came in from his publisher last night. He writes back that yes, he will be writing a book soon, but no, he doesn't know whether that'll be next week or three months from now. Taking a writing break is just what he needs after moving here.

Around noon, Charlie, who had been editing the last paragraph of her article, sends in her final changes and shuts her laptop with a sigh.

"That was fun and all, but now I'm beat and it's only lunchtime," Charlie groans. Kevin's still working on his draft, and Dean finished half an hour ago. In fact, most people finished their editing in an hour or so, and left to go eat a late breakfast or early lunch.

"Aren't you allowed to go home now?" Castiel asks Charlie.

"Well, I usually stick around till three to get everyone's work together to post online, but I'll work on that tomorrow. I think I'll go get some lunch and then go home to nap for a couple hours." As Charlie explained on Wednesday, she also kept the newspaper's website updated, posting Sunday's articles at the same time the paper came out. Though, people could only actually view the stories if they logged onto their account online, which was linked to their subscription.

"Wouldn't you rather just get it done today so your weekend is free?"

"Nah, I have to finish designing a website for this guy tonight. And besides, I get paid for taking care of the paper's site as long as everything's up and running by Sunday."

"You create websites for businesses too?" Castiel questions.

Charlie spins a little in her chair as she places her laptop into her bag. "Well, writing articles for the newspaper doesn't exactly pay the bills, so I take up jobs on the side." She smiles at him as she gets up out of her chair, walking to lean against his desk. "I'm a certified programmer, web developer, and hacker. But let's keep that last one between you and me."

"Then why choose to also be a journalist?"

"Well, I love everything about computers, but I've also loved stories. My mom used to read to me all the time when I was a kid." A wistful smile crosses her face for a moment. "So when I got to college, I minored in journalism. I mean, computers and writing are two different things, but it works for me." Castiel nods at this. "So what about you? Why choose journalism if you like writing novels?

"I knew I needed a job when I came here, and journalism was something that always interested me," Castiel says. It's the truth.

"Are you excited to finally write something next week? It's probably been awful sitting here all week with nothing to do."

"Well," Castiel tilts his head, "that's not true. I've had fun with you and Kevin. Though yes, getting to write something myself and going around town is going to be interesting."

"I'll bet." Before she can say more, Charlie's phone vibrates twice on her desk, so she goes back to get it, tapping on the screen for a moment. "Hey," she says without looking up as she types, "wanna grab lunch with me and Dean? I'm sure Naomi won't mind if you clock out early. It's not like you've got work to do here anyways."

Castiel's mind drifts back to the conversation he and Dean shared only hours ago, and he resists the urge to shudder. "I don't think that would be a good idea."

"No, really, Naomi won't mind," Charlie insists.

"It's not Naomi that's the issue."

"What then?" When Castiel doesn't answer back, she comes to the conclusion herself with a slow nod. "You don't want to go because Dean's going to be there." She takes his silence as a yes. "Believe me, Dean is one of the nicest guys I know, if not, the nicest. You just need to get to know him."

A soft chuckle escapes him. "I don't think Dean wants anything to do with me, and I don't think I want anything to do with him either."

"Yeah, I get why you feel that way. I mean, he's been a dick all week, but maybe things can change? I'll go talk some sense into him."

"That's alright. I'm sure we'll become friends sooner or later," Castiel says. He doesn't think that'll happen anytime soon, if ever, but he doesn't want Charlie being worried about this.

She chews on the inside of her lip, then picks up her laptop bag from off the floor. "Alright, I'll leave you two alone for now. But you sure about lunch?" She begins walking backwards down the aisle.

Castiel gives her as genuine a smile as he can. "I'm sure. Enjoy the rest of your day, Charlie."

"You too!" She waves and turns around, her red hair flying over her shoulder as she does so. Castiel decides that he would rather leave now too, hoping Naomi really won't care that he's already gone home. He only came in today because he thought it would be proper to do. Only a few people are left in the building anyways.

Saying a quick goodbye to Kevin, Castiel leaves, thinking of going home and making a sandwich for lunch, then maybe spending the rest of the day watching Netflix in bed. Maybe even skyping with Gabriel at night, if he's free to talk.

Yeah, that sounds like a good plan.

• • •

Blinking his eyes open, Castiel sees white and blue lines coming into focus, realizing he's lying face-down on his pillow. He flips over, turning to lay on his back. There are wrinkles from his sheets all across his right arm, and his fingers feel numb. He must have fallen asleep on it last night.

His bleary eyes track around his room, going from his bathroom door to his overflowing laundry basket. He's going to have to take care of that today.

Turning his head, he glances at the digital clock on his nightstand, glaring at it when he sees it's only eight. Today's Sunday, and that means waking up at ten, not this early.

And he hadn't been able to get to sleep last night until around one, not with the way he was worrying about going to Jody's. Now he's up ahead of schedule, which leaves more time for him to worry about seeing Claire today. Maybe he shouldn't have said yes to Jody's invitation, so that he had more time to get used to living here. It's been a little over a week, definitely not long enough to get used to his surroundings.

Part of him wants to make up an excuse and cancel on dinner, but it's too late to do that now. He's going to have to deal with righting his wrongs sooner or later, and it shouldn't matter if it's sooner. That still doesn't mean he doesn't feel the familiar curl of nausea in his stomach at the thought of going to dinner tonight. What if Claire doesn't say a word to him? What if she doesn't even want to see him? He doesn't want to make her uncomfortable with his presence, and whatever anger she has toward him is completely justified. In his head he knows that, but he's not sure his heart has caught up with it yet, even though it's been years. He still remembers Claire as the twelve year old who begged Castiel to take her to the mall and then dragged him to a late movie. They'd come home an hour past Claire's bedtime, but Amelia and Jimmy hadn't minded when they'd seen the smile on Claire's face.

Sometimes, Castiel misses all of them so much, it hurts.

As Castiel takes the shower and brushes his teeth, he tries to keep from getting nervous, but he can't help it. By the time he's in his kitchen drinking his second cup of coffee, he feels himself getting tenser and tenser. So, he goes for a drive.

Seeing as it's Sunday morning, the roads on his way to Main Street are dotted with people of all ages. He sees children and their parents walking, some people even riding their bikes even though it's only half past nine. One girl in pigtails waves at him from the sidewalk as he stalls at a stoplight. He doesn't know if she sees him, but he waves back.

He parks in the common lot for the street, finding a spot easily as the place is mostly vacant. Tugging his keys out of the ignition, he gives his pant leg a pat to make sure he brought his wallet with him. Doing so, he also realizes he's wearing gray sweatpants and a t-shirt, but he doesn't really care. It's not like he knows many people in town really.

While walking to the coffee place he went to last week, he promises himself he won't drink a third cup of coffee. It would just make him even more shaky, rather than wake him up like the first cup did. Once he enters the shop, however, the scent of coffee is so tempting that he finds himself inching closer to the counter, but he refrains from ordering coffee and instead just gets a banana nut muffin. Krissy isn't working there today, but instead, it's a man who has dimples when he smiles at Castiel.

Before Castiel leaves the counter, he notices the newspaper stand and grabs one of them and tosses it onto the counter, purchasing it too. He subscribed to it on Friday, but the subscription hasn't gone through yet, even though he doesn't have to pay for it anyways, as an employee.

The first story is written by Chuck Shirley, who Castiel remembers as the jittery man in glasses, but he had seemed nice enough. And Victor had told Castiel that Chuck would probably be writing the article on him and his writing. Lovely.

He nibbles on his muffin as he settles into a chair, but then, he looks around at all the people in the shop, some laughing, others just having quiet conversations. Being around people right now seems unsettling to him, so he gets out of the chair and goes outside instead, placing his muffin back into the brown bag he got it in. He walks back to his car, already wishing he was back at home. The sun is unforgiving, shining directly into his eyes until he's squinting against it. When he does get to his car, he lets out a breath and puts the newspaper and muffin in the passenger seat. He should turn on the air conditioning before he melts.

Placing his key in the ignition, he turns it in place, but the engine doesn't turn on, letting out a broken noise instead. He tries it again and the same thing happens.

"Don't do this," he says under his breath, but no matter how many times he twists the key, the engine doesn't turn on. Panic seizes his muscles all at once, so he leans his forehead on the steering wheel and thinks. It's probably a dead battery, but he should check out the hood just in case it's a wire or something out of place. Not that he'd understand much, since he's never been that great with cars. In fact, he should just call AAA, but it could be a while until they get here. He'd rather just try to figure out the problem himself and go from there.

So, he opens up the hood of his car and then gets out of it. Raising up the hood further, he sticks his head slightly under it and looks from left to right at all the parts of his car. The last time he looked into the mechanics of a car had been years ago, so nothing really looks too different to him. Maybe he should just call AAA after all.

Castiel hears a loud car engine approach, the sound eventually cutting off, probably because the car parked. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see that the car stopped in the spot next to him. At this rate, whoever's in that car is bound to know more about engines than him.

A rough voice to his left startles him out of his thoughts, where he's still bent under the hood. "Hey, man, you need some help?"

It takes a couple seconds for the man's words to click in Castiel's brain, and then another couple seconds for Castiel to identify that it's Dean who they belongs to. Just his luck.

He slowly ducks out from under the hood, seeing Dean's expression jump from concerned to confused to shocked.

"If you're willing to help, then yes," Castiel says.

Dean swallows, then shrugs his shoulders. "I guess I will, now that I'm here. What's going on with your car?"

Castiel blinks twice to make sure that he's not imagining Dean in front of him, but when the other man stays put, he realizes that yes, Dean just offered to help him.

"I tried a lot of times, but my engine won't start."

"The engine? Well, it's probably your battery, since I don't see smoke or anything coming out of the car." Then, Dean steps back to look at the rest of the car, then back at him, and he raises his eyebrows. "Wait a second. This is your car?"

"Um," Castiel looks back at it to make sure it looks the same as it did twenty seconds ago, "yes?"

"Well, I guess it makes sense that you would be driving something like this. Can't say I'm surprised," Dean says.

Castiel narrows his eyes at him. "So are you going to help me or not?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'll help you out." Dean put his head underneath the hood, while Castiel steps out of the way. After only thirty seconds, Dean lets his head back out and nods to himself. "Yeah, it's a dead battery. I can give you a jump," Dean says as he goes to the rear of his car, pulling out a set of jumper cables from his trunk. "I'm gonna pop my car hood."

He watches Dean open up his hood, then Dean approaches Castiel's car with the red and black alligator clips, getting the ends secured where they need to go. Thankfully, there's no cars parked ahead of his or Dean's car, or else they wouldn't be able to do this side by side.

"Alrighty, now let me just go turn my car on, and we can get your battery charging." The engine of Dean's car roars to life, and Castiel notices that it's a 1967 Chevrolet Impala. Castiel doesn't know too much about cars, but he knows that Dean's car is something special, and it looks to be in impeccable condition.

"Nice car," Castiel comments when Dean comes around to stand in front of it, a few feet away from Castiel. Dean's dressed in a black Metallica shirt and frayed jeans, along with brown boots.

"Thanks, I guess. I've had it for years."

"Ah," Castiel says. An awkward silence settles between them as neither of them says anything, waiting for Castiel's car battery to charge. They're closer to enemies than friends, but if Dean is helping Castiel out, then he figures Dean can't be that bad.

"So what? You come out into town to grace everyone with your presence, and you got stuck while trying to get back home?" Dean asks. Apparently Castiel spoke too soon about Dean's kindness.

"I came to get something to eat. What are you doing here?"

"I came to get something to eat, too. I got work in half an hour," Dean shrugs.

"You have another job?" Castiel first asks, and then, "Oh, am I going to make you late for work? My apologies, I didn't mean to-"

"It's fine. I just have to get there sometime around ten, so if I'm a few minutes late, I don't think Bobby will mind."

He can't help the niggling guilt he feels at stalling Dean from his job, and also keeping him from getting food. Even if he doesn't care much for Dean, he shouldn't be acting as a hindrance in Dean's life. "Really, I'm sorry. I'm keeping you from getting food."

"It's no big deal. You're just lucky I got here when I did, or who knows how long you would have waited out here trying to figure shit out."

"Actually, I was just about to call for help from triple A," Castiel defends. He wonders why it's so easy to get riled up whenever he talks to Dean.

"Were you now?"

"Yes," Castiel seethes.

"Hmm, I guess we'll just never know." Dean looks down at Castiel's car battery, looking as if he's having an internal argument, until his face smooths out. "Want me to look at your battery? I can see if it's actually broken, or if this was just a one time thing," Dean offers, rocking back and forth on the heels of his boots.

"Are you good with cars?"

Dean gives a little laugh. "I'm a mechanic, but I'm guessing you didn't know that. It's the job I'm going to now, or well, the one I'm supposed to be going to."

Castiel lets this information sink in. Dean Winchester is a journalist and a mechanic. An interesting career combination, but not the strangest he's seen. "Do you work on weekends only?"

"Well, I work Friday, Saturday, and sometimes Sunday. Putting in a few hours at the garage helps me out with bills. Not like working at the paper gives me too much spending money."

It must be awful to work everyday of the week, Castiel thinks. As a writer, he had no set schedule and could work whatever days he wanted to at whatever time. And now as a journalist, he doesn't have long hours at all, and his job seems to be somewhat enjoyable. "You can look over my battery then, if you want."

Dean moves toward the car battery, adopting an accessing look on his face. He lifts a couple wires, but it's not long before he's nodding to himself. "I don't think your battery is dead yet, but it's on it's way to dying out. That's probably why your engine isn't working."

"Would it be best to get it replaced, then?"

"If I were you, I would, but it's your decision. I'm just offering my professional opinion," Dean says with a smirk forming. Castiel looks between Dean's face and his battery, not sure whether he should say thank you or not, but eventually decides he should.

"Thank you for letting me know."

"Hey, swing by the garage when you can, and someone'll help you out for a good price. I'm at Singer's. It's about ten minutes away from here, right by Sullivan Avenue."

"You'll give me the family and friends discount?" Castiel jokes.

Dean lets out a laugh. "I wouldn't say that, but I'll make sure you get something. It's my little brother that usually gets that discount, anyways."

"You have a brother?"

"Yeah, I do. He lives here in town actually, now that he's out of school for the summer," Dean says with a smile, then clears his throat. "But really, bring your car into the garage sometime."

Surprised at Dean's generosity, Castiel nods his head. "I'll do that soon."

After a couple minute of more silence, Dean clears his throat and looks back at Castiel from where he'd previously been looking at nearby trees. "I think you can check your engine now. You should be good to go," Dean says.

Castiel goes back inside his car and turns his keys, letting out a sigh of relief as the engine finally starts up. He comes back outside, a smile on his face. "Thank you again for helping me out, especially in this heat." He tilts his head up to glance at the bright sun, noticing how Dean's staring at him and his collarbone. Castiel can feel a sheen of sweat on his neck. When Castiel lowers his head again, he notices how quickly Dean's eyes flit away from him, a redness forming on his cheeks that probably isn't from the sun. Oh.

Dean is aesthetically pleasing, Castiel can't possibly deny that, but Castiel's never really found anyone attractive in particular. He knows that with eyes that green and a smile that nice, it isn't hard at all for Dean to charm someone, but for Castiel, things don't exactly work that way. He doesn't exactly work that way. He's only had sex with two people: his college roommate and a girl he'd met at his first job, and both times, he'd been in relationships with them, but the attraction came later on. It's more about the emotional connection he has with someone than the physical connection. So while he's flattered, Castiel doesn't quite know what he'll say if Dean makes any offers to him. Not that he would, seeing as that they still stand on rocky ground, even if Dean helped him out.

Moving forward, Dean goes by the battery of his car. "So, I'm gonna disconnect our batteries now," he says, removing the all clips slowly. "Just make sure you get it replaced as soon as you can."

"Of course." Castiel hesitates for a second, then says, "Since I've delayed you in getting breakfast, can I offer you the muffin I bought? I haven't really eaten it yet, so if you need to be getting back to work, you can have it. I can just eat something at home," Castiel offers.

Dean's eyes widen in response, as he shuts the hood of his car. "I think I'll pass."

"Okay, well, would you like some money or something? I can't help but feel like I owe you for helping me."

Letting out a snort, Dean goes to stash his jumper cables in his trunk, and comes back around to the driver's side. "Pay me? I was trying to do you a favor. I don't need your charity," he sneers.

"Charity? No, that's not what-"

"You meant? Yeah, whatever you say, Cas." Dean opens his car door and gets inside, peeling out of the parking lot in a few seconds. Castiel's left standing there with his car hood still open, and he closes it and settles back into his car. A shaky breath passes through his lips, and his hands are clammy as they grip his steering wheel on the ride home.

He knows that he was just trying to be kind, but if Dean's so insistent on disliking him, then fine. Two can play at that game.

When Castiel gets home, he goes straight to his couch and sprawls across it, reaching for the TV remote on the coffee table. He flips through channels for the next few minutes, until he switches over to Netflix and watches episodes of The X-Files. Time passes slowly, and Castiel falls into a state between awake and dreaming, until his empty stomach makes itself known.

Reaching a hand out, he picks up the brown bag from where he threw it on the coffee table, and pulls out the muffin. It's grown cold, but he still eats it. A little sweeter than he usually likes, but it sates his hollow stomach. He still feels weakness pulling at his bones, though. Maybe he should take up running in the morning again, if he's feeling so tired in the mornings.

He puts the muffin wrapper back into the bag and sets it on the side table. Doing so, he sees the newspaper he abandoned an hour or two ago. When he unfolds it, he finds it still smells faintly of ink. He skims over a couple articles, seeing an obituary section that he hadn't noticed last week. An entry about a woman who passed on Monday is written by someone named Garth Fitzgerald. The name brings up a memory of a cheery man who walked toward Castiel with a skip in his step, eager to introduce himself. Oh, that's Garth.

Whether he does it intentionally or not, he finds his eyes drifting to the story Dean wrote, about the reopening of the farmer's market. Castiel flits his eyes away before he can read more than a couple words. Instead, he flips to the next page and finds a crossword puzzle. He didn't think the newspaper had something like this, but apparently it does.

Twenty minutes later, he decides it's harder than it looks to complete.

As the the hours of the day tick on, he mostly alternates between his kitchen and the couch, which is more comfortable than it had been back in Seattle, somehow. It's easy to occupy himself and look away from the clock, until it's six o'clock and it isn't quite as easy anymore.

By the time he's actually driving to Jody's house, his mind is a mess. This is it, but that's not true, is it? Yeah, if Claire doesn't react kindly, he's not going to just leave town with his tail tucked between his legs. He's going to try to apologize and make it up to her, if he can. She deserves that much. And he needs to do this, if not as her uncle then at least as her friend.

Castiel rings Jody's doorbell at exactly seven o'clock. He fidgets on he porch for only five seconds before there's a woman answering the door. Well, a teenager, to be more exact.

"I'm guessing you're Castiel?" She asks, and Castiel concludes this must be Alex.

"Yes. Are you Alex?"

She gives him a lopsided smile. "Yeah. You can come in." Alex steps back from the door frame, so Castiel comes inside, taking his shoes off on the purple rug to his right. Alex leads him through a hallway. Its walls are lined with photographs, but he passes by too quickly to really look at any of them. It's a nice house, he thinks, as he passes into the kitchen where he sees Jody bent over, pulling something out of the oven.

She sets the pan on the stove, then goes about taking her red oven mitts off, finally looking at Castiel. "Hey, Cas. You're just in time. I hope you like chicken."

"I do," Castiel affirms, because well, he does. Amelia used to make really good chicken.

Stowing her oven mitts away in a cabinet, Jody turns to Alex, who's pulling a water bottle out of the refrigerator. "Alex, can you go upstairs and get Claire to come down? Tell her dinner's ready."

Alex takes a quick sip of water, then caps the bottle. "I'll try. Can't make any promises, though." She leaves the room with the water bottle still clutched in her left hand.

Castiel moves closer into the kitchen, where Jody is taking plates out of the cabinet. "If Claire doesn't want to see me, then that's fine," Castiel says, even though his stomach is swimming with nerves. He tries to ignore it as best as he can.

"Well, she's gotta talk to you one day or another, right? She can't stay mad forever."

"I know, but what I did. Or rather, what I didn't do," Castiel says with a shake of his head. "I won't fault her for not wanting to talk to me."

Silverware clangs as Jody pulls knives and forks out of a drawer. "Hey, it's not my place to pick sides, but I think you deserve a chance. You're a good guy," she says.

"I appreciate you inviting me over in the first place. You have a nice home."

"Thanks. I'm not home too much, but I try to be here whenever I can. It's just hard, y'know?" Jody sighs.

"It must be. Raising two teenage girls and being a sheriff can't be the world's easiest job," Castiel commiserates. He assists Jody as she moves the plates over to the dining table in the next room. Setting the table for four people, Castiel can't help but wonder if the fourth seat will actually be getting filled.

When all the food and plates have been carried over from the kitchen, Castiel hesitates between sitting down and standing.

"Please, have a seat. I'm sure Alex and Claire will be down in a minute," Jody says. And as soon as she finishes speaking, Castiel hears a door shut and footsteps sounding down the staircase.

Alex enters the room first, and behind her, Claire comes in with her jaw clenched. She grew taller compared to the last time Castiel saw her, and she let her hair grow out. It falls across on her shoulders, where she's wearing plaid. Her eyes still remind Castiel of Jimmy's.

"Hello, Claire," Castiel greets, holding his breath.

Claire narrows her eyes at him as she comes to sit at the chair diagonal to where Castiel's standing. "Castiel. I'd say it's good to see you again, but that would be a lie," Claire snarks.

"Claire, be nice," Jody cautions.

Huffing, Claire looks around at the three of them, but says nothing else. Jody begins cutting away pieces of chicken for everyone and piling them onto plates, along with oven-roasted potatoes and green beans. Castiel hasn't had a good home-cooked meal in weeks. Most of the dinner he makes comes from a box or a can, and he just adds in a few extra things. Or he just orders takeout.

"So," Jody says a few minutes later when the silence starts getting awkward, "how did your job interview go today, Alex?"

"Good, I guess," Alex tells, then takes another bite of chicken.

"Just good?" Jody presses.

"Well, I don't wanna jinx it, but I'm pretty sure I got the job," Alex says with a grin.

"That's fantastic! Summer jobs are worth it, believe me, even if you have to get up earlier than you'd like," Jody says, and Alex nods at her. Claire continues to not make eye contact with anyone, until Castiel decides it's time to bite the bullet.

"Do you have a summer job, Claire?" Castiel questions as gently as he can.

Claire looks up at him with a fork held halfway to her mouth. "No, can't say I do." She puts the fork into her mouth and chews slowly, as if daring Castiel to go on.

He does. "May I ask what you do during summer break then?"

Jody jumps in when Claire doesn't answer. "Well, she doesn't work, but she volunteers at the rec center sometimes."

"Yeah, well, it's kinda fun to help kids while they're doing arts and crafts and stuff," Claire elaborates. "Actually, it's nice to be there for people in general."

Her words sting at him. "Claire, you must know that how sorry I am that I wasn't-"

"No, Castiel, I don't know. It's not like you've gone out of your way to talk to me in the last couple years."

"I thought you would be angry with me," Castiel says earnestly.

"Angry?" She snorts. "Yeah, I was mad for a while, but then I realized that if you don't care, then why should I?"

"I did care. I still do."

"Well, excuse me if I have a hard time believing that," Claire scoffs.

Castiel's appetite is long gone, but he continues to eat while Jody attempts to reconcile the evening by switching the topic to her work. Castiel listens politely, but it's mostly Alex and Jody doing the talking.

"And," Jody says at one point, "the other day, I caught a couple teenagers trying to break into that house. I don't know what's so interesting about it."

"The one on Piper Lane?" Alex asks.

"Yeah, which else would it be? All that's in there is dust and old furniture."

"Sounds like a good place to throw a party," Claire says, sarcasm seeping through.

Jody shrugs, "Whatever it is, I don't get the appeal. If you want to have a party, do it the old-fashioned way and have it when your parents are out of town."

Alex laughs. "So if I threw a party the next time you leave town, you'd be okay with that?"

Taking a sip from her water glass, Jody shakes her head. "Don't even think about it. And besides, I rarely get out of town." They start talking about the weather after that, and Castiel confirms that it is abnormally warm outside, to say the least.

When the dinner table is cleared later, Claire and Jody retreat to the kitchen while Alex stays behind with him in the dining room.

"Claire's great at holding grudges," Alex says in a low voice, probably so Claire doesn't hear.

"Yes, I can see that," Castiel affirms.

"I can't speak for her, but I think she'll come around to you. Eventually. Hell, when Claire first came here, we couldn't stand each other." She shrugs. "I think we're at a truce for now." Alex leaves him with that, going to the kitchen, and Castiel follows after her to see Jody stowing away leftover food in plastic containers. Claire's washing down dishes and placing them in the dishwasher, and Alex goes to help her. He watches them all move around the kitchen with ease, as if they've cleaned up together after dinner countless times, and Castiel is envious for the quickest second. Growing up, he'd never gotten along with most of his cousins or his aunt and uncle, and Jimmy had been seven years older than him. By the time Castiel turned eleven, Jimmy was getting ready to leave for college. And with him gone, Castiel always felt like an outsider in his Aunt Hester's home. It wasn't until Gabriel started talking to him that he finally felt less alone. Even then, Castiel never had the best family dynamic, and the last time he'd really seen one like this had been composed of Jimmy, Amelia, and Claire. They'd been almost perfect.

He snaps out of his thoughts when Jody comes closer to him, handing him two containers. "I packed you some leftovers," Jody places both of them into his hand.

"You didn't have to do that."

"I know, but I wanted to," she gives him a smile. "And," she says, leaning in closer, "you're welcome to come back whenever," Jody promises.

It's not until he's in his car until he realizes that no, he's not. He tried to talk to Claire, and she doesn't want anything to do with him. He didn't talk to her for years out of fear, and that was his mistake. And she's said her piece. So what is he doing here, in a town where he doesn't belong? And how long will it take for this place to start feeling like home?

Rolling into his driveway, he cuts the engine and sits in his car for a few minutes, just thinking. If coming here was the wrong choice, then it's too late for him to turn back. It would mean moving back to Seattle and having to resell this house that he's lived in for a little over a week. When he really thinks about it, something in him is telling him that he should stay, even if he doesn't fit in. Maybe one day, things will be different, and he'll be glad be moved here. And well, in for a penny, in for a pound.

He finally gets out of his car and locks the door, and is suddenly reminded with his encounter with Dean earlier on in the day. It feels like it happened days ago, when it's only been hours.

Thinking of Dean has Castiel's thoughts spinning again. He doesn't know if the real Dean is the one he met in the coffee shop that first day, who'd been kind enough to talk to him. The Dean that came over to help a random person with their car, and stayed even when he saw it was Castiel. But the real Dean could also be the man who rolls his eyes every time Castiel so much as breathes.

From most of what he's seen, Dean's a nice guy to everyone but Castiel. So maybe it's just him in general that has Dean tensing. Yet, Castiel still doesn't know why. It could be that Castiel's just new to town, and Dean doesn't like new people. Or maybe Castiel replaced someone Dean was good friends with at work, and now Dean dislikes for that. Though, Castiel's pretty sure that there was no fourth person working at the paper as a feature writer before he came along.

He lets his thoughts fade into the background as he twists his house key and pulls the door open. The entire house is encased in shadows, from the blinds he forgot to shut before he left. Pale moonlight spills across the floor in panels, the lines undisturbed as Castiel fumbles for a light switch. When he turns the main light on, the shadows disappear, but he still feels unsettled. Outside, he hears crickets chirping as he goes to close the blinds on the windows, layering the curtain on top of them.

On his way into the kitchen, he turns two more lights on until the strange feeling he got finally passes, and he places the containers Jody gave him into the fridge. A look at the microwave clock tells him that's it's only nine, but with the day he's had, he's ready to fall into bed.

He makes sure he turns all the lights off, then goes into his room and strips down to just boxers and a t-shirt. The floor creaks as he steps into the bathroom, and it creaks again when he steps out of it. It's a welcome noise compared to the thoughts swirling inside his head. He just tries to ignore them as best as he can.

And when he climbs into bed a couple minutes later, he's ready to sink into a deep sleep, but it evades him for hours.


	4. Three

Barely able to stay upright, Castiel leans both elbows heavily on the long table as he waits for Naomi and Victor to assign everyone stories for the week. They're all piled into a large meeting room, with a table for fourteen in the center, while the remaining people stand in the back. Luckily, Castiel got here early enough to grab a seat, or else he would have ended up falling asleep against a wall. Well, that's just what happens when one gets less than five hours of sleep. 

So when his name gets called out, Castiel can't really be blamed for the way he jerks upright. 

"Yes?" He asks, trying to ignore everyone's eyes on him, especially Dean's from across the table. 

"I said, you'll be doing the summer festival. Write about the town's preparations," Naomi instructs, and he nods quickly, so she moves on to the next person. 

By the end of the day, he's managed to figure out that Cedar Woods has an annual festival at the end of July, which everyone is invited to, including adjacent towns. There's local vendors selling their goods, music and dancing, food competitions, and even fair games to play. And with such a tight-knit community, it's the highlight of the year. 

So yes, no pressure at all for his first story.

Of course, the festival is a little under two weeks away, so he's doing one part of his story this week, and the other part next week, as Victor told him before he left the building. While leaving, Castiel also managed to bypass Chuck, who's probably waiting to question him, seeing that Chuck did get assigned to interview Castiel after all. It can wait until tomorrow, when he's not half asleep and craving a hot meal.

While eating dinner, he manages to burn the roof of his mouth on Jody's leftovers, but he quickly washes the burn away with a long chug of water. He's so hungry that he barely notices the sting, and continues to eat his chicken. The only sound accompanying his chewing is the loud tick of the clock he put up in the dining room, and Castiel wonders why he chose to eat here today. He usually just uses the small eating table in his kitchen. Today though, he found his feet padding across the living room and to the other end of the house to eat here, and he can't figure out why. Maybe after the tiring day he had, he needed a change of scenery. 

But when he wakes up the next morning, he feels only slightly better, still caught between awake and dead to the world. 

He groans and rolls over in his sheets, reaching out a hand blindly to tap on his phone and shut off his alarm. Who ever thought mornings were a good idea?

It takes until eleven for him to feel truly awake, when he's sitting in the parking lot of the library. Since it's interview day, his first instinct had been to go to city hall to one of the official organizers, but then he'd decided to take a more personal perspective on this story, so now he's visiting the volunteers. Sure, it's the public officials who arrange when and where to have the event, along with keeping track of who's coming and what's happening, but that wouldn't make for an interesting story. It's much better to read about what the people behind the scenes are doing, the ones working in the stalls. After this, he'll go to one of the market shops that will be acting as vendors, so he can get in a late lunch. All in all, he likes the freedom to make his own schedule for the day. 

He walks into the library and enters a long hallway, the tile underneath him cracked in places, and the walls made of wood panels. The place smells faintly like lemons, and an overhead light flickers as he passes under it. On his right, there's a bulletin board overflowing with colored paper. He sees flyers, noticies, business cards, and photographs, along with a large calendar in the center. 

As he pulls open another glass door, he enters the actual library, which is more lively than the opening hall. A couple of children are seated in beanbags in the corner, with books in their laps. Bookcases litter the entire room, some taller than others. He comes along to the front desk, where the nearest librarian is typing at her computer. She probably knows who he should talk to, so he stands next to the desk, waiting for her to notice him.

She eventually looks up at him with wide eyes, her blonde braid swinging from her left shoulder to her back. "Hi, can I help you with something?"

"Yes, well, I'm just looking for someone involved with the festival's preparations? I have a few questions for them," Castiel tells.

"And you are..." 

"Oh, I'm with the newspaper. Castiel Novak," he says, unsure if he should be showing her his press badge, but she nods at him.

"Oh, nice to meet you! I'm Jessica Moore. I can answer your questions if you want."

"You're involved with the festival?"

"Well, I've been helping the library out with our stand, among some other stuff," she shrugs. 

"That's perfect. Do you mind talking to me for a few minutes right now?" Looking to the side, he glances at the woman on opposite end of the front desk, holding a phone with one hand and writing something down on a notepad with the other. 

Jessica glances to the side too, and nods her head. "Yeah, it's no problem. Not like there are many people coming in here on a Tuesday morning. And I was about to take my lunch break anyways," she comes around the desk and begins leading him toward a corner room. They walk in between two bookshelves to get there, and Jessica doesn't bother to turn the light on when they enter, since the far wall has a window letting in a full stream of light. She guides him to sit at one of the three round tables, and Castiel notices the artwork on the wall, drawings and paintings presumably done by children. 

He pulls out a notepad and pen out of his pant pocket, uncapping the pen and letting it hover over his paper. Writing up notes on his phone would probably be easier, but his battery is low and he would rather conserve it. "Can I ask what specific preparations you've been making for the festival while working here?"

From talking to Jessica, he finds out that she's actually a first grade teacher, and that's she's only working at the library for the summer. For someone who's twenty-five, she seems to know exactly what she wants for her future, and for the town. For the festival, she tells him that the library will be creating their stand and selling used books for discounted prices, and the money will go towards buying new books, along with renovating one of the library bathrooms. 

"This is your first festival here, isn't it?" Jessica asks him after he's shut his notepad. 

"Yes, it is. I've only actually lived here for a little under two weeks," he admits. 

"Really? Well, I love your book, in any case."

He smiles, almost sheepish. "Thank you. I didn't think you would even recognize my name."

She rolls her eyes at him, but does it with a small grin. "Are you kidding? Your book is one of the few that I bought a physical copy of instead of just reading on my Nook. Plus, I have this friend who's been talking nonstop about you."

Castiel feels his eyebrows furrow. "Friend? Who's-"

He cuts off when he sees someone appear in the door frame, almost too tall to fit. Red plaid hugs his frame, with black sunglasses tucked into his shirt collar. When he looks at Jessica, a warm look spreads over him. 

"Hey, Sam," Jessica says to the man as he comes closer to the table. She gets out of her chair, and he kisses her on the cheek.

"Jess, I'm sorry it took me forever to get here. I got sidetracked doing some paperwork," Sam says, apologetic. 

"Hmm, apology accepted because I got to talk to Cas over here while I was waiting for you," Jessica says, slanting a thumb in Castiel's direction. He stands up from his seat, pushing the chair in with a leg. 

"Cas? As in Castiel?" Sam asks, a strange look breaking across his face. He looks Castiel up and down, as if assessing him, and Castiel fights the need to look away, meeting Sam's gaze instead. 

"Yes," he says, unsure of what else to answer, as Sam's hand drops from where it was around Jessica's shoulder, and he holds it out for Castiel to take. 

"I've heard a lot about you," Sam notes while he shakes his hand. Sam's grip is firm, his hand soft and smooth as it glides out of Castiel's. He wonders where Sam has heard about him, if he's never met the man before. Maybe he's also a fan of his book? "I'm Sam." And he opens his mouth as if he's going to add more, but he leaves it at that and turns to Jessica instead. "Were you guys discussing something important?"

"Well, Cas was just asking me some questions about the festival. He's doing a story in the paper about it," Jessica replies.

"Really? Well then, I'll make sure I read it on Sunday," Sam tells Castiel with a soft smile.

Jessica huffs. "Oh, please, like your eyes aren't glued to the paper every Sunday morning anyway."

"It's been a habit for years, Jess. Even before you came here with me," Sam admits.

"I can't blame you for it, considering I do the same thing," Jessica says, then turns back to Castiel. "Everyone in town here reads it, believe me."

"So I've been told. Are you not from here?" Castiel asks her.

"No, I'm from Portland, but then I met this guy at Stanford." She jerks her right thumb at Sam. "And he dragged me here after my senior year."

"The way I remember it, you were the one that wanted to move in with me, even though I still had another year to go before graduation." Jessica blushes at this, her cheeks turning a shade closer to the pink of her hair tie, and when Sam grins at her, she swats at his shoulder.

"Yeah, well, you're lucky I decided to date you at all, Winchester," she says to Sam, and Castiel freezes. 

"Your last name is Winchester?" Castiel asks before he can stop himself, and to his continued shock, Sam nods. 

"Yeah, you might know my brother Dean?" 

"I do know him." He sees the resemblance between the two now. Sure, their physical features may not be alike, but the way Sam smiles reminds Castiel of Dean's smile, not that the smile has ever been directed at him, of course. In terms of personality, Sam seems like a genuinely nice person, and so does Jessica. Though, Dean seems to hate him, and Castiel can't help but feel wary of Dean too, no matter how much Charlie says otherwise. "I can't say much more than that. We don't exactly get along with each other," Castiel admits.

"Yeah, Dean hasn't had the nicest things to say about you, but you seem like a good guy," Sam says.

Jessica nods. "Ditto on what he said."

Taken aback, Castiel looks at these two people who he just met, who already see him as a decent person. In his experience, he isn't the best at making first impressions, and yet, Sam and Jessica are delaying their lunch to talk to him. Speaking of that, he says, "Thank you, but good person or not, I don't want you to waste your lunch break talking to me."

"Oh, I'm home today anyways," Sam shrugs, but he starts walking toward the door, leaving Jessica and Castiel to follow. Castiel's fingers automatically fly to the wall to turn the lights in the room off, before he remembers they were never turned on at all. 

"And I never actually clocked out, since I was still in the building, so don't worry about wasting our time, Cas. It was nice getting to talk to you," Jessica says, looking back at Castiel as they cut back through the bookshelves.

"It was a pleasure to talk to you too, Jessica."

"Please, call me Jess," she says, her braid swinging back over her shoulder, touching the sleeve of her dress. 

As they get to the first glass doors, Jess excuses herself for a second to clock out, leaving Sam and Castiel standing there. For someone who towers over him, Sam's presence is comforting to him.

"Listen, man, I don't know what's the deal with you and Dean, but that's between the two of you. If you ever want to talk to me or Jess or even hang out sometime, you can give me a call. I'm sure it must be difficult to get used to a new town," Sam says as he pulls out his cell phone. Castiel reads off his phone number, and Sam sends him a text message, making Castiel's phone vibrate in his pocket. 

"Thank you again."

"No problem," Sam waves off just as Jessica comes back, a white purse across her body. 

"Alright, let's go," she says, then turns to Castiel. "Hey, you wanna come with us?"

Castiel shakes his head. "Thank you, but I still have to go interview some more people. Enjoy your lunch." 

After Sam and Jess leave, Castiel's left still standing by the glass doors, and the smell of lemon is back. Leaning closer to the door, he figures it must be the scent of the glass cleaner, so he pushes the door open and goes back into the front hallway, where one of the lights is still flickering. A strange chill passes through him, even as he opens the front door and a wave of heat hits his face. 

He gets into his car and goes back to the town square. 

• • •

On Sunday morning, he decides to go for a run.

Living in Seattle, on the rare occasions that he woke up early, he used to go running around town, usually passing by crowded streets overflowing with traffic. But as he runs around his neighborhood now, he finds that the cars are few, and the people are plenty. Just like last week, many families are already doing something in the yard, or just sitting on their porch even though it's only half past eight. 

He feels the steady beat of his heart, blood pounding in his ears as he pushes out his breaths. It does a lot to clear thoughts of the last week from his mind. He managed to finish his article and submit it by four on Thursday, then went home afterwards and fell asleep on his couch. The paper will probably be waiting for him when he gets home, and he wonders what it'll feel like to see his name on it. Journalism hasn't always been his favorite type of writing, but by being a feature writer, he still has a little bit of creative freedom when writing his articles. 

Coming up with a good plot is easy. It's the characters and the setting that's the hardest. A person can have the best storyline in the world, but if they can't make their characters human, can't make them come to life, then what's the point of telling the story at all? 

So, having concrete people to talk to, to influence his article, is exactly what he needs. His next novel can wait a few months.

Squinting against the morning sun, he pushes through fifteen minutes of running until the sidewalk underneath him starts to taper off into dirt. He left his neighborhood behind five minutes ago, and now he's at a dead end. Trees curl around each other in front of him, most of them teeming with green leaves. A bird perches on a high branch, head tilted like it's looking at him. 

A slow wind sweeps across the trees, and a leaf falls off of it and lands next to Castiel's legs. He reaches down to pick it up and then runs his fingers over the veins of it. He feels oddly calm.

His daze lasts all of thirty seconds before he hears the snap of a twig, but looking closer into the trees, he doesn't see any animals. He turns back around, still holding a leaf, and begins on the way back home, cutting into a run once he enters his neighborhood.

By the time he gets onto his porch, a thin sheen of sweat is covering him, and one of his hands holds this week's newspaper. He picked it up from next to his mailbox, since his subscription went through finally, and he deposits it on the kitchen counter.

For some reason, the leaf he thought was still in his fingers is gone. He must have dropped it on the way here.

Going upstairs, he peels off his sweaty clothes and tosses them into the hamper, wearing nothing by the time he steps into the bathroom. Forty minutes later, he's sitting in his kitchen browsing through the newspaper, his hair still wet. A cup of coffee is next to him, along with a couple pieces of toast that are still untouched. 

He's only gotten to read the obituary section that Garth wrote before his phone starts vibrating from where it sits on the kitchen counter. 

Castiel gets up and sees it's Gabriel calling, then swipes to answer it as he sits back in his chair. 

"Hello?" He answers.

Castiel hears an exaggerated sigh, and then Gabriel's voice is coming through the phone. "So he lives! I was starting to think that either none of my calls were getting through or you were dead."

While he's certainly answered Gabriel's texts, he hasn't yet been able to talk to him. Castiel doesn't know how to tell him that Claire wants nothing to do with him, and he's in a town where he'll always be the outsider. 

"I'm sorry, Gabriel. I've just been busy with moving in and everything," he lies.

"That's bullshit, Cas. I practically got you moved in before you even got there."

"Yes, and while your help was very much appreciated, I still had to do a few things on my own, all while getting used to my new job."

"Oh yeah? And how is that new job treating you?" Gabriel asks.

"It's going fine. Better than I thought it would, at least," he says, and it's the truth.

"Yeah? No annoying coworkers or anything?" Gabriel presses, and when Castiel is silent for longer than necessary, Gabriel says, "Come on, give me the deets. I won't tell anyone about what you say, promise."

Castiel rolls his eyes, even though Gabriel can't see him. "I doubt you would contact anyone from my work while you're across the country, but thank you for promising anyway. And it's not that I have any annoying coworkers, I just have one that practically hates me." 

Yesterday, when Castiel had took his car to the shop Dean works at, the man himself hadn't wanted to help him, and instead a strange man named Ash had assisted him, also replacing his battery. Dean had gone off in the opposite direction as soon as he'd seen Castiel approach, and that has cemented what Castiel knew all along. Dean Winchester wants nothing to do with him, and Castiel can't say he blames him. 

"Hates you? I doubt anyone could ever hate someone with a face like yours," Gabriel says.

"I'm being serious, Gabriel. Dean doesn't want anything to do with me."

"Dean, is it? And what does this Dean guy look like?"

Castiel toys with his toast with his left hand, ripping off a small piece from the corner of it, then puts it into his mouth to chew slowly. "I hardly think that's of relevance."

"I'm just saying that if this guy's a good looker, then he's not gonna like it that a Casanova like you just came into town. I mean, you've got brains and money on top of it," Gabriel tells, then a slurping sound comes over the line, until he adds, "Either that, or he's just playing hard to get."

"You don't even know how old he is."

"Hmm, I'm gonna say late twenties, early thirties, probably still lives with his mom."

Castiel scoffs, "While you're probably right about the first part, I doubt the second part's true."

"Well, just tell Dean to fuck off if he starts being a real asshole to you, alright? You've gone through enough shit for someone who's only twenty-nine."

He chews on the inside of his cheek as he tries to figure out if he should tell Gabriel about his situation with Claire. Sure, Gabriel is Castiel's cousin and therefore, also Claire's uncle, but the two of them barely met before Jimmy passed, mostly because Gabriel hops from town to town. So, Gabriel never really understood why Castiel felt obligated to move to Oregon in the first place, but he'd been more supportive than Castiel could have ever hoped for. Maybe he should tell Gabriel what happened. 

"I talked to Claire the other day. Well, I tried talking to her. She didn't really want to talk to me, and I understand why," Castiel says, almost in whisper.

"Listen, Cas, don't beat yourself up over it. Even if she never talks to you again, you can't blame yourself."

"But it's my fault that I didn't talk to her when she needed me to."

A long sigh drifts through the phone. "We've been through this. Whatever Claire does isn't your responsibility, and you gotta let things go. Jimmy and Amelia wouldn't want you beating yourself up over this stuff, either."

Castiel swallows the sudden lump in his throat. "I know, but I also don't know if that's true."

"It's your life, so I'm not gonna tell you how you can and can't feel, but I'm also not gonna let you treat yourself like shit."

"I know, Gabriel." Silence falls between them, so Castiel tears off another piece of bread and eats it. He stares down at the newspaper in front of him, but doesn't register any of the words.

Gabriel clears his throat eventually. "Listen, I gotta go get ready for some meeting thing, but I'll talk to you later, alright?"

"Of course. Tell Kali I say hello."

"Sure thing, kiddo," Gabriel says, then ends the call.

He clutches his phone in his hands and bites along the inside of his cheek, until his coffee goes cold. When he manages to swallow down his toast, he washes it down with the cool coffee, and it leaves his throat feeling strange for the rest of the day.

• • •

The next week passes by in a blur.

Naomi assigns him another article about the festival, even though the paper will come out the day after it. Nonetheless, he writes about it, and on Wednesday night, he even goes out to dinner with Charlie. 

He never used to go out too much, unless Meg or Gabriel managed to drag him out of the house, and while Meg's his manager, Gabriel's related to him. Making friends has never been his strong suit. Then again, it's pretty difficult to not be friends with Charlie. She's persistent. Which is how she manages to convince Castiel to go to the festival with her, even though he'd been planning on going alone, maybe for an hour at most.

He's in the middle of putting his socks on when his doorbell rings on Saturday, just a couple minutes before six o'clock. Opening the door, he sees Charlie wearing a smile and carrying a small pot in her hand.

"Hi, Cas! You ready to go?" She asks, then glances down to where he only has his right sock on. "I'm gonna say your answer is no."

He pushes the door open wider, leaving enough room for her to enter. "Hello, Charlie. You can come in while I finish."

She steps inside, her red hair sweeping from side to side as she walks further into the house, examining all the rooms. "This seems like a sweet place. Pretty clean, too."

Castiel shrugs, going into this living room to sit on the couch and finish putting his sock on. "I have a lot of free time."

"Maybe you should take up a hobby? You could always come LARPing with me," she offers, taking a seat on the armchair.

"I think I'll pass." Charlie explained what LARPing was the other night, and while it does sound interesting, Castiel doubts he'd be any good at it.

"Hmm, your loss." Charlie looks down at her lap, where she's still holding onto the pot. "Oh, I almost forgot! I brought this as a house warming gift. It's a succulent, so it should be easy enough to keep alive." She takes the plant and places it onto the coffee table. Looking down on it, Castiel sees small but thick green petals growing in the shape of a rose. 

"Thank you, Charlie," he says, brushing his index finger along one of the petals.

"It's no problem," she chirps with a smile, and then gets up out of her chair. "But we better get going now before it starts getting late."

They get out of the house and into Charlie's car, since she insisted on driving Castiel there, so that he can't leave too early. Which, in all honesty, Castiel would probably do if he came in his car.

When they get to the part of town where the festival is being held, there's cars swarming all around them.

"Holy shit, there's a lot of people here," Charlie remarks as she goes down the street looking for a parking spot. The festival is organized a couple blocks down from Main Street, where there's a large field and park. Of course, most of the town came, along with people from adjacent towns coming too.

"Is there usually less people?"

"Well, there was a little less last year, but that was probably because it was cloudy and humid that day, and no one really wanted to be outside," Charlie says, then looks at Castiel as she stalks at a red light. "Of course, you're also here this year. Maybe people came to see you."

He rolls his eyes and looks out the window, where there's people walking along the sidewalk. "I don't think anyone knows I'm here."

"I mean, Chuck did write that article about you last week," Charlie reminds him, and he groans.

"Don't remind me of that. I regret it already."

"Uh huh, sure you do." She moves into the parking lot by Main Street, and pulls into an empty space. "We're kinda far, but something tells me this is the best spot we'll be able to find."

Getting out of the car, Castiel's reminded just how warm it is outside. He's wearing an old t-shirt and dark jeans, but when he gets into the crowds of people, he's sure the heat will just get worse. 

"Let's cut through this way," Charlie says, as they go through the back of the parking lot and walk in a curve, so that they miss the line of people on the street. When they pop out of the trees, they're considerably closer to the festival. Around him, more and more people appear, some talking, some laughing, and some smoking weed. Interesting. 

When they get to the entrance of the festival, Charlie takes his arm and pulls him through the gate before he can say anything else. She continues dragging him along until he sees two figures with their heads leaning into each other, and they look very familiar. 

"I thought that was you two I saw from over there," Charlie greets, then leaps forward to hug both of them. Castiel squints at them for a moment, before he remembers that right, this is Sam and Jess from last week. 

"Hey, Charlie!" Sam says as he steps out of the hug. "I was wondering when we were gonna run into you."

"You guys been here long?" Charlie asks.

"Well, I had to come up and help set some stuff up, so we got here a couple hours ago, but people haven't really started coming in until now," Jess answers, and then she turns to Castiel. "Hi again, Cas."

"Oh right, you guys know each other," Charlie says. "So it won't be weird if we stick around with you guys for a little bit?"

"Of course not. Me and Jess have just been walking around for a while."

"See anything interesting yet?" Castiel asks, as they all start walking across the grass. 

"Not really, but the night is still young. I'm sure something crazy is bound to happen." Sam shrugs, just as they pass a maroon tent with beads along the edges, but there's too many people crowded inside to see what's in it.

"Hey," Charlie says just as the smell of popcorn trails through the air. "Where's Dean?"

If Castiel wasn't looking directly at her, he would have missed the way Charlie's eyes dart to him for a split second, but he sees it. And then he looks away as Sam answers. 

"I think he's getting here a little later. He was working at Bobby's until six, so he'll probably get here after he showers."

"Ah." 

When silence falls, Castiel quickly changes the subject before things can get more awkward. "How long does the festival usually go until?"

"I mean, the fliers say eleven, but really, most people don't leave until at midnight. It's just that it's a one day thing, so people try to stay here for as long as they can," Jess says, and Castiel nods. Walking around, he feels strange and out of place, but the feeling of not belonging has become familiar to him in the last week, so he tries not to let it bother him too much.

For the next forty minutes or so, they drift from place to place and stop occasionally, until Charlie eventually leaves them when she comes across a booth run by someone named Dorothy. She waves the three of them off, telling Castiel that he can call her anytime if he really needs to leave early, but besides that, she'll see him at eleven. 

Sam and Jess are nice enough and include him in their conversations, but without Charlie there with him, he feels an awful lot like a third wheel, especially when they find a photo booth with signs and props to use. 

"You two can go on and take pictures. I think I'll  walk around some more," Castiel says to them, just as Jess flips through all the signs. 

"You sure? I don't think it'll take that long for us to take the pictures, if you wanna wait out here," Sam says, but Castiel shakes his head.

"No, really, it's alright. I'll try to find you guys later on."

Jess looks up from where she's holding a sign with hearts on it and uses it to wave at him. "It was nice seeing you again, Cas."

"Yeah, call me whenever you wanna do something together," Sam adds.

Castiel starts moving backwards away from them, then leaves with an "I will."

Turning on his heel, he starts moving through the grass again, this time having no one to distract him from his thoughts. He wonders where Jody, Alex, and Claire are in this crowd. Maybe he'll run into one of them, or maybe he won't. The last time he talked to any of them had been that Sunday night dinner, since he'd rather not bother Claire until she's ready to talk to him. And if that's never, then well, that's just something he's going to have to learn to live with. 

He ends up looping through tents, searching for something or someone, he's not sure which. Somehow, he ends up walking back to the front entrance, where he sees people still coming in even though a look at his phone tells him it's past seven. 

His fingers catch on fabric as he moves out of the way of a group of teenagers, and he turns to see he's back at the maroon tent he passed before. The beads along the seams are red and black, and it interests him enough that he walks into the tent. There's a couple people inside, along with a red head behind a long table, half of her hair pinned back. Castiel looks down to see the items on the table, where there are things in bottles and a couple velvet sacks, with stones and charms laid out in various colors and sizes. He picks up a stone that's a deep purple and smooth to touch, then another one that's blue. If he wanted to, he could probably name a few of these.

"Are you looking to buy one?" A voice asks, one with a Scottish accent. Glancing up, he sees the redheaded woman smiling at him.

"No, I'm just looking." He glances to his left, and sees that he's the only one in the tent now.

"Well, I'm selling these beauties for a bargain today. Wouldn't want to have too many in stock when I'm getting another shipment next month."

"Do you have a store in town?"

"I do. A few streets down from here, actually. It's called The Coven, has a big, black sign that you can't miss." She looks him up and down, then adds, "I don't think we've before. I'm Rowena."

He nods at her. "Castiel." 

"Pleasure to meet you. Are you sure you don't want anything? I've got lots of books, too." Rowena gestures to the right of him, where there's a smaller table with books laid across it. He goes over to it, examining all the titles. They all have to do with magic or charms, some large and some small enough to fit into his pocket. He's never believed in these kind of things, but he did look into it when writing his book a few years ago.

One book in particular catches his eye, one with a forest and lake pictured on the front. He picks it up and opens it, and the pages smell like vanilla, some of them sticking together when he flips through it. There are some illustrations, but it's mostly words. It's about Greek myths. 

"How much is this one?"

"Ah," Rowena says as she comes around to where he's standing. Castiel notices that she's wearing a purple evening gown, even though it's still eighty degrees outside. "That one's fifteen, but I'll give it to you for twelve. As a welcome to the neighborhood."

He tilts his head at her. "How did you know I was new?"

She throws her head back and laughs at him. "Because, Castiel, I know everyone in town. Believe me."

Castiel doesn't know what to say after that, so instead he pulls out his wallet. He takes out a ten dollar bill and two singles, placing them into her palm.

"It was lovely doing business with you. Would you like a bag for that?"

"Yes, that would be appreciated." Rowena gives him a black cloth bag, with a silver symbol on the front of it, and he places the book into it. 

"Have a nice night, dear," Rowena calls as he exits.

That was a strange impulse buy he just made, but he can live with it. 

He goes to another tent, where a woman sells him honey made in her backyard, and he places the jar into his tote bag. 

It's only two minutes later that Castiel remembers he hasn't eaten anything since lunch, and his stomach's feeling hollow. He finds a large food tent with vendors along the side of it, and many picnic tables in the middle. As he moves closer into the tent, a person comes up and bumps into him from the side. His leg twists as it takes a forward step, and he almost sprawls out across the grass, but a hand darts out and catches his wrist before he can do so.

"Sorry man, I wasn't looking where I was going," a voice says as he picks his gaze up from the ground and looks up to see Dean. Because obviously, the universe is conspiring against him. "Cas?"

Castiel stares at Dean for a few seconds, noting how Dean's eyes are still bright green even though the evening light is dying out. He lets his eyes linger until Dean raises an eyebrow at him. "Take a picture. It'll last last longer."

He breaks the stare and looks down to where Dean's fingers are still wrapped around his wrist, and Dean looks too, as if he forgot they were even there in the first place. Dean jerks his hand away, letting it fall to his side.

"Are you starting to stalk me?" Castiel asks.

"What do you mean?"

"You know, you found me at the coffee shop and then again at the parking lot the other day. And now you just ran into me."

Dean lets out a chuckle, glancing to the side. "The way I remember it, _you_ were the one who sat down at my table that first day."

"Yeah, but you were the one who told me I could stay there, even though any sane person would have asked me to move."

"Alright, touché. What do you mean by sane person though?" Dean asks as they walk through the opening into the food tent.

"Well, mornings aren't exactly the best time to talk to new people. Especially when it's me you're talking with," Castiel mentions, and Dean lets out a snort.

"Yeah, I'll say."

Castiel's eyes snap to Dean's, and he manages not to walk into a table. "Can we not do this all the time?"

"Do what?"

His eyes narrow. "The thing where all we do is antagonize the other." Dean opens his mouth to say something, but Castiel cuts him off. "And don't say you're not doing anything because you are and you have been for three weeks. I still don't know what I did to bother you so much."

Dean stops in his tracks and looks at him, as if he's deep in thought. "Alright, you wanna know what my problem with you is? It's that you're you."

"Thank you, Dean. That cleared up so much," he says in the most unamused voice he can manage.

"I'm serious! You're this famous author and you came to a small town like this, probably so you can feel better about yourself when you see how the rest of us have to tough it out," Dean confesses.

"Do you honestly think that I believe that I'm better than everyone? I came here because I wanted to."

"Yeah, maybe you just came here to use everyone as inspiration for your next bestseller."

He comes closer to Dean until he's only a few inches apart from him and bites out, "Dean, I'm only going to say this one more time. I didn't come here to use anyone as material for a book or to make myself feel better. You may not believe it, but that's not the kind of person I am. I moved here because I wanted to. I needed to. I've been meaning to come here for a while, so listen to me when I say I'm going to stay. And you can think whatever you want to think about my motivations, but I'm not leaving anytime soon. You're just going to have to learn to live with that. Got it?"

The voices in the crowd around them fade into the background after Castiel finishes talking. Dean looks back and forth between Castiel's eyes, before he sees Dean swallow, then take a deep breath. "Okay then."

Blinking at him, Castiel repeats Dean's words. "Okay then?"

"Yeah." Dean bites his lower lip. "Okay then as in, let's try to not hate each other anymore. I think it's worth a shot." And then Dean gives him a crooked grin that makes his heart beat just a little quicker.

"Alright. But to be fair, it was mostly you being an ass to me, rather than the other way around."

"I'm just protective of this town and the people in it," Dean shrugs. 

"You never told me if you grew up here or not." 

"Well, that's a long story for another day," Dean says, before beginning to walk again. "For now, how do you feel about burgers, Cas?"

Fifteen minutes later, they're seated at a vacant picnic table across from each other, each with their own burger and fries on the side.

"I'm telling you, Benny makes some of the best burgers," Dean says, his eyes rolling into the back of his head as he chews.

"These are very good. Better than anything I could ever make," Castiel says as he takes a bite of his own. It really is delicious.

"Yeah? You cook a lot?"

Castiel shakes his head quickly. "No, I try to avoid it as often as possible. A few years ago, my cousin told me that I could set water on fire if I wanted to, but I've gotten a little bit better since then."

"Just a little bit?"

"I can make simple things now, but they're still not too great. Can you cook?"

Dean pops a fry into his mouth, chewing rather quickly. "Well, my brother Sammy says I can, but that's just because I've been doing it since I was little." He eats another fry, and then midway through chewing, he asks, "You've met Sam, right?"

"Yes, I was just with him earlier, but I felt like I was intruding on him and Jess, so I went off on my own."

"Yeah, they've been that sickeningly sweet for five years now. I just try to tune it out," Dean admits.

"They're both very nice people. They were incredibly welcoming when I met them last week."

"Yeah, well, Sam's always been like that. He's always liked meeting new people, even as a kid. Hell, he was great at making friends, but me? Well, you know firsthand how I'm like when I meet new people."

Castiel puts down the last quarter of his burger so he can focus on Dean. "I'll admit, I was frustrated with you at first, but once you explained your reasons why you acted the way you did, I think I understand where you were coming from. Let bygones be bygones, right?"

"Right." Dean eats more of his burger as Castiel looks around at all the crowd around them, noticing people of all ages sitting down and eating. He hasn't been to many festivals, not since college, but he would consider this more of a town gathering than a festival. Still, with the sounds of live music drifting over to them, he can't help but get caught up in the atmosphere. In the distance, Castiel sees people moving on the makeshift dance floor, some swaying to the beat while others are actually dancing with partners. Dean must catch him looking in that direction, because Castiel hears him say, "Hey, you wanna dance?"

Castiel turns his head to look at Dean, who's done with his burger. "Are you asking me to dance with you?"

"What? No! I was just asking if you want to, you know, get over there or something after you finish eating. It doesn't have to be with me, or whatever," Dean mutters, focusing on his french fries. 

"It's a nice offer, but I think I'll pass. Dancing, like cooking, is not one of my strong suits."

"Maybe next time then. Although, now you got me curious, what's one of your strong suits then?"

Castiel's brain comes up with _letting people down_ , but he pushes that thought away and instead focuses on the flecks of gold he can see in Dean eyes, in the light coming from the string of lanterns across the ceiling of the tent. 

"I can write?"

"Okay, besides writing. Everyone and their mom knows how good of a writer you are," Dean says.

"Have you read my book then?"

Dean bites down on his bottom lip, and Castiel's eyes are drawn to the movement. "It was Jess that told me to read it, like the month after it came out. And I did, then reread it again as soon as I finished so that I could see all the clues you threw in about the ending that I missed the first time around. There were a lot. You're a great writer."

Castiel eats another fry and tries not to preen under Dean's praise. "Thank you," Castiel tells him, and then they're both silent as they finish up their food.

It's not until they're in the middle of throwing their trash away that Castiel dares to ask Dean the question that's been on his mind for weeks. "Why did you choose journalism?"

If Dean's surprised by the question, he doesn't show it as the two of them begin walking along the grass, passing different stands. "My mom was a journalist. I kinda wanted to follow in her footsteps since I was a kid." Dean kicks at a rock in the grass as he speaks.

"Is she not one anymore?"

"She passed away when I was four," Dean says, rubbing a hand along the back of his neck.

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," Castiel says, a pang of sympathy rising in him. Losing a parent at a young age takes a toll on people. He would know.

"It's fine. It was a long time ago." 

They stop to play a game where they have to throw darts at balloons, paying three dollars each, since the money will go towards the summer camp. Dean ends up popping three balloons while he only pops one. Dean's able to win a large purple monkey stuffed animal, which he hands off to a little girl behind him, who then runs off to show her mom. Castiel smiles at the sight. 

Later on, they pass a cluster of teenagers, all laughing loudly at something. "Hey, you wanna go someplace else or would you rather stay here at look around at stuff?"

Castiel moves out of the way of a woman chasing after her children. "Where do you want to go?"

"Right now? Anyplace that doesn't have a bunch of people everywhere. Crowds aren't really my favorite," Dean admits. 

"Yes, then we can go elsewhere if you wish. I've already been through the whole festival, and all I bought was a book," Castiel says, lifting up his   right arm, where the tote bag from Rowena is still looped around it. 

Dean nods his head towards it. "I'm guessing you didn't get that from the books the library was selling at their stand."

"No, but I think Jess said she was helping out there after nine. I was actually planning to find her there later on, if I stayed that long."

"Oh, well, we can get out of here now and come back in an hour or something," Dean suggests. 

"Let's do that then," Castiel says as they go back around to the entrance, where there's a few people smoking along the gates. They pay him and Dean no attention as Dean starts leading him down the sidewalk. The sun set a few minutes ago, but the street lamps provide more than enough light, casting an orange glow on everything around them.

"You good with just walking around the street?" Dean asks him. 

"Yes, at least it feels less congested."

Dean nods. "I mean, we could always just go back to my car, but I'm pretty sure it'll get too hot just sitting in there."

"We would only be sitting there?"

"And doing some other things," Dean says with a wink, and Castiel rolls his eyes. Now that he and Dean aren't at each other's throats, he thinks they could be good friends if they wanted to be because Dean's just like Charlie said he was. Though Castiel's not sure if he can completely forgive Dean for the way he acted before, he can make sure they stay on good terms.

They pass by a few stores, all closed, until Dean sees a hardware store and laughs. "Well, I remember spending a lot of time in that place while I was fixing up my house."

"You have your own home?"

"Well, it's a townhouse, but yeah, I do. I didn't trust anyone else to fix it up, not with the history this town has with contractors."

"What sort of history?"

Dean turns to look at him with a furrow between his brows. "You haven't heard about it? The whole mess with the contractors and construction guys back in the 1920's?" When Castiel shakes his head, Dean starts walking a little slower as he talks. "Well, I'll just tell you the hard facts. You see, there was this mayor in the '20s, Milton, and he wanted to have a house built for him and his family. So he hires some guys to make his house for him, but he uses the town funds to pay for it, saying that he wanted to also make a whole row of houses on that street so people could live there. Anyway, so there weren't many safety regulations back then, but Milton barely pays attention to the few that they had, which ends up getting eight workers killed in this fire while they were making the house. The town has a funeral for them, and then only a couple months later, Milton gets new workers to finish his house for him, but he never builds any other houses in the row. Just the one for his family. He was one selfish son of a bitch."

"And then?"

"That's it. Basically, it just tells you how much you can't trust people, but I guess it wasn't the workers' fault after all. Still, people like to make all these weird conspiracy theories about it, but I'm pretty sure they're all fake. Most of them sound like something straight out of book club," Dean laughs. 

Castiel lets out a small chuckle too, and Dean looks at him with a smile. He smells like sandalwood and leather, so Castiel can't help moving closer to him as they walk around the block.

Eventually, another hour goes by as they walk around until they stop to sit at a bench nearby the festival gates. Checking his phone, Castiel notices how it's already half past ten, and springs out of his seat, startling Dean next to him. 

"I should be going to find Charlie soon. She was my ride here," Castiel tells him as he begins walking toward the gate. 

"Alright, I'll go with you. You'll probably find her with Dorothy." They walk back among the throngs of people, pushing their way through. "I would offer you a ride home, but I think I'll still be here for another hour. I need to go find Sam and Jess anyway." 

Castiel remembers he never got to see the stand the library made, but figures it's too late to go now. "It's fine, Dean. I'll see you around on Monday?" He sees Charlie now, standing next to a stall with Dorothy, right where Castiel left her a few hours ago. 

"Yeah, Monday," Dean says with a wave of his hand, and then he's lost in the crowd. 

When Castiel gets home later on, he's exhausted and ready to sleep for the next ten hours. But around two o'clock, he hears sirens going off, even though he's not by any main roads.

Peeking through his bedroom window, he doesn't see anything out of the ordinary, so he falls back into a fitful sleep. 


	5. Four

When the town was established in 1870, the founders thought Cedar Woods would put itself on every map across the country. They thought a few years would pass, and it would be a hotbed of activity for the whole state.

Well, that was wishful thinking at its finest.

Years went by and few people moved in, until the town decided that needed to stop waiting for more people to come, and instead, they should just start doing what they can with those they have. One of the first things they did was establish a newspaper, choosing a building right in the town square for its office. With a starting team of eight, they were able to bring news every Sunday morning with a paperboy that would travel through town on his bicycle. And even though he town eventually became more modern, the people were never able to shake off their habit starting their Sunday by reading the paper. Which is why even in present day, the _Cedar Woods Weekly_ building is still busy, now with a team of twenty-two. Everything from sports to entertainment to family news is included, with a publisher that doesn't show his face much. But with Naomi as the editor-in-chief, the paper runs just as well without Crowley showing up.

Or so said the historical account that Castiel read during his first couple days.

As Castiel makes his way into the office on Monday, he can't help but wonder if the paper has ever sold out like it did yesterday. 

According to Chuck's article written and printed before sunrise yesterday, there had been a fire. It wasn't able to spread too quickly, but that's because the people who saw it first had immediately called for help. Jody showed up along with the fire district, helping to put out the flames that had managed to start along a front line of trees right on Piper Lane. At the other end of that street stood the Milton house.

Whatever or whoever started the fire, the sheriff's office hasn't figured out yet. But it was stopped, and yet Castiel swears he can still smell smoke in the air. 

He wakes over to the meeting room, where most of the people already are gathered, some at the coffee table in the back corner. Castiel itches to have his second cup, but instead, he takes an empty seat and pushes himself closer to the table. A look at the clock tells him there's still five minutes to eight, so Naomi and Victor should be coming in soon. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees someone take a seat to his left, and he spins to see Dean, holding out a coffee cup to him. 

"Here, I grabbed some for you," Dean greets, extending the cup further. 

Castiel takes it, his pinky finger grazing across Dean's. "Thank you."

"I have a feeling we're gonna need to be awake for whatever Vic and Naomi have to say. They're probably gonna talk about what happened yesterday," Dean says, taking a sip of his coffee. Castiel mimics him and takes a drink of his own, and it tastes just like he likes it. 

"I heard the paper sold out yesterday."

"I just talked to Hannah about it, and she said they printed up a few more copies this morning for the newsstands. Who knew people still picked up newspapers, right?"

"Well, I should hope so, or else you and I would be out of jobs," Castiel says, taking another pull of his coffee. 

"I guess that's true," Dean says, nodding. Castiel turns back around in his chair as he hears the door open, seeing Naomi enter. She takes a red marker and begins writing the date on the dry erase board, then turns to look around the room, her eyes meeting Castiel's. She looks away after a moment and busies herself with taking papers out of her bag. 

"Holy shit," Castiel hears, coming from Charlie to his right. "Am I hallucinating, or did you and Dean just have a civil conversation?"

"I suppose we just did," Castiel affirms, lips hidden behind his coffee cup.

"So you're past whatever crap was between you two?"

"Yes?" Castiel answers, only a little unsure. If he's being honest, he hadn't been sure that Dean and him would stay at their truce, but things seem to be alright for now.

He hears the door shut before Charlie can say anything else, and Victor enters the room with a clipboard in his hand. 

Clearing his throat, Victor addresses the room. "Alright, good morning everyone. This meeting today is gonna be a doozy, so fair warning," he says. 

Naomi gives him a pointed look, but doesn't say anything further as everyone starts taking their seats, besides the group of people left standing. They really should get more seats or a larger table at the very least. "Alright. We all know what happened yesterday morning by now, and we will be focusing more on it in the paper, but we also need to focus on what we normally do. Furthermore, the festival needs to be talked about and the successes of that night discussed. Regarding the community, we will be talking about the last week of summer camp, along with the fall sports teams already preparing for the season." She uncaps the red marker, then stops with her hand poised atop the board, turning back to the room. "Does anyone have any questions before we begin assignments?"

A woman raises her hand, someone named Jo that Castiel has seen talking to Dean before, though Castiel hasn't had a proper conversation with her himself. "So we won't be talking too much about the fire? I got the feeling that people have a lot questions about that."

Naomi purses her lips, her cheekbones standing out as she tries to figure out what to say. "We will be, but I want to make sure that other things are not neglected in favor of that. After all, we can only report the facts, not make any speculations as to what went on," Naomi answers.

Victor and Naomi run off their list of people and assign them to their story, and Castiel waits for his name to be called, but it isn't and neither is Dean's.

So when everyone else exits the room once Victor dismisses them, Castiel is slow to leave, giving Dean a strange look until Naomi pulls them back.

"Can I have a word with you two?" Naomi says, and Castiel's nerves creep up inside of him until his fingers are twitching at his sides. What reason could she have to pull them aside? Besides their behavior around each other in the last few weeks, Castiel can't think of anything.

"You may have noticed that I didn't call either of your names," Naomi starts with, and Dean nods.

"Yeah, I think I caught on to that."

"Well, that's because I wanted to ask you two before assigning you a story together. I've seen that your interactions haven't been the most," she pauses, "friendly."

Dean looks back at him and shrugs his shoulders. "Me and Cas? We're good now."

"Then you two will be up to the challenge of figuring out who and what caused the fire? I have others working on interviewing the fire district and other officials for their side of the story, but I want you two to get to the bottom of what happened. Investigate it for the people."

Castiel raises an eyebrow at her. "Shouldn't we leave that to the sheriff's office? It wouldn't look professional for us to interfere where we aren't wanted."

Naomi's eyes bore into him as she nods, and Castiel sees her fingers tighten on the bag she's holding. "Yes, but this will give the public more closure if it's written about, rather than have them waiting around for a police report that may or may not come. And it's a great opportunity for a good story."

"So wait," Dean interrupts, "You want us to go around interviewing the witnesses and writing something about whatever we find out? It's only been a day, I mean, shouldn't we let people calm down and all that?"

"I think it would be best to write while people are still interested, and there were no casualties, so there's nothing to worry about in terms of feelings, correct?" Naomi says. "I chose the two of you because while you've been here for years Dean, Castiel has not and I think it would benefit the story if we combine an outsider and an insider's perspective, wouldn't you agree?"

Castiel tries to ignore how a bitter feeling rises in his throat at being reminded how he's an outsider, and nods at Naomi. "We'll do it."

Dean turns to look at him, wide eyes, but then he shrugs. "I guess if Cas is in, then I am too."

"Excellent," Naomi says, then leaves the room with a clack of her high heels. He and Dean are left staring at each other, and Castiel regrets drinking that last cup of coffee, since the nausea flooding him is almost too great. He doubts people will want to talk about the fire to a man that just moved here, but if Dean is there with him, he figures it cannot be too difficult.

Dean breaks their staring contest first, his green eyes blinking to the board full of names. "Let's get to work, I guess." He pulls the door open and waits for Castiel to go before him, and then shuts it with a quiet click. 

• • •

The next morning, Dean practically leaps out of his desk when he sees Castiel approach. 

"There you are. I'm ready to get out the hell out of here," Dean says, taking Castiel by the shoulders and turning him around. 

"It's only nine, Dean. Shouldn't we wait a little later to do interviews?" Castiel says, but he keeps in step with Dean as they approach the entrance, trying to ignore all the eyes flying to them.

Dean pushes open the front door, already making his way down the pathway and away from the pillars. "Well, we're interviewing Ruby Cassidy first, and I happen to know exactly where she works." Dean comes to a stop in the parking lot, turning to him. "We're taking my car."

"Why yours and not mine?"

"Because, and no offense, Cas, you drive a really crappy car," Dean says as they come around to the Impala.

"What's wrong with it? It gets me where I need to go."

"Well, I know for a fact that it's shitty enough to break down randomly, and it looks like the color of thrown-up alcohol. But my Baby? She's in mint condition and still drives like a beauty."

Castiel squints at him, but doesn't try to defend himself further. "I admit that your car is superior to mine, but that's because you're a mechanic who knows how to take care of his car."

"You're damn right I do," Dean smiles, pulling open the driver's side door as Castiel does the same to the passenger's.

They're silent as Dean turns on the car and pulls out of the parking lot before turning right. "Do you think it was a good idea for us to take on this story?" Castiel asks Dean as the silence stretches.

At the stoplight, Dean taps his fingers on the wheel, glancing at Castiel through the corner of his eye. "Honestly? No, not really. I kinda feel like it'll just start more gossip and turn into a big mess if we don't check what we say. But then again, I want to find out what happened myself. This is the most interesting thing to happen since, well," Dean presses down on the gas as the light turns green, but he doesn't elaborate.

"Since what?"

"Since Amelia Novak died," Dean says, eyes trained on the road. "Not that it was interesting that she died, I just meant that it was something new for us, you know? It's not everyday you see a healthy woman like her pass away."

Castiel tries to ignore the tremor in his fingers as he places them into his lap. "You knew her?"

"I saw her around town a couple times, but I never got a chance to have a real conversation with her. It was Sam that knew her, back when he was interning at the same law firm she worked at."

"Oh, I didn't know that." His voice comes out harder than he means for it to be.

Dean chews on his bottom lip, pulling it between his teeth for a few seconds before releasing it. "Look, I don't know if you guys were close, but I'm really sor-"

"It's fine, Dean," Castiel bites out in a rush, and thankfully, Dean lets the subject drop. A couple minutes later, Dean's pulling into the parking lot with a large white sign that says "Benny's Diner". Castiel has passed it before, but he never thought about going inside. Diners have never been his favorite. The building is white with large windows along the sides, and there are flowerbeds surrounding the front entrance, where he sees what looks like cosmos growing.

"You remember that awesome burger from the other night? That was _this_ Benny that made that," Dean says, getting out of the car, a notebook tucked under his arm. Shutting his door, Castiel notices that the air isn't as warm as it's been for the last few weeks, but that's probably because it's partly cloudy today. 

When they enter the diner, Castiel's hit with the smell of pancakes, and he can feel his stomach rumble happily in response. His hunger almost makes him forget the ever-present ache in him at being reminded of Amelia.

"Ruby works here?"

"I come here often enough to know, but the two of us haven't really had a conversation besides what the daily special's are," Dean tells him, but the waitress that approaches them isn't Ruby; it's Alex.

She looks between him and Dean with a raised eyebrow, before leading them off to a booth next to one of the windows. The seats are deep red but comfortable enough to sit in, as they both slide into opposite sides. "Can I get you guys something to drink?" Alex asks them. This must be the job she said she got.

"Two coffees with two cups of cream each, and just a little bit of sugar," Dean says, and she sets down two menus and leaves.

Castiel looks at him in bewilderment. "How did you know exactly how I like my coffee?"

Dean thumbs open his menu and doesn't look up as he speaks. "I made you some yesterday, and you drank it, so I figured you like it just like I like mine."

"I would've taken you for the type to drink black coffee."

Dean chuckles a little, still reading through the menu. "I do sometimes, but only when I'm dead tired and just want straight caffeine."

Instead of Castiel opening up his own menu, he focuses on the way the sunlight hits the top of Dean's head, and his hair looks golden almost. And when Dean finally looks up at him, he's distracted by the way Dean's eyes seem to catch the light in a way that makes them look the color of peridot. And then there's his freckles, in which Castiel could map constellations if he so wished. 

"See anything you like?" Dean says, looking up with a grin, and it's obvious he's not talking about an item on the menu, since Castiel still hasn't opened it.

Heat rises in Castiel's cheeks at being caught staring, so he fumbles open the menu and chooses not to answer Dean. Inside it, he runs his eyes through the breakfast section before deciding on something easy enough to eat just as Alex comes back to them with their coffee.

"Ready to order?" She asks, pulling out a pen and a pad of paper,

"I'll have the Belgian waffles with bacon and scrambled eggs on the side, thanks," Dean orders, handing Alex his menu.

"How about you, Castiel?" Alex asks him, making Dean give him an odd look.

"Can I have the mushroom omelet with hash browns?" Castiel says, and Alex picks up his menu and leaves with a nod. 

As soon as she leaves to go to the other side of the diner, Dean raises his eyebrows at him. "You know her?"

"Yes." Castiel's reaches of the handle of his coffee mug and pulls it toward him. 

"Okay, you wanna elaborate?"

He opens his mouth but shakes his head. "No, not right now." If he starts talking about Alex, he'll start talking about Claire, which will lead to Castiel talking about Amelia and Jimmy, and he would rather not do that. At least, not when he and Dean barely know each other.

"Alrighty then." Dean lets it go as he takes s drink from his mug, before making a noise while putting it back down quickly. "Well, that's too hot to drink for now." He reaches next to his seat and places the notebook he brought with him onto the table. "So, what's our game plan?"

"Do you see Ruby here?" Castiel asks, giving a glance around the room. There are only a few other tables and booths occupied, but that must be because it's a Tuesday morning. He doesn't spot any other waitresses though.

"Yeah, she is. Coming right out of the kitchen behind you," Dean points, and Castiel surreptitiously turns to look at her. She's carrying two plates of food, a lopsided smile on her face. Some of her brown hair is pinned back, and she's wearing a red t-shirt with an apron. She doesn't look shaken up at all, for someone who was witness to a fire less then forty-eight hours ago.

"When should we talk to her then?"

"After I have a couple waffles in me, and when she doesn't look as busy. It might take a while, but we got time." Dean turns to look out the window, and Castiel does too, looking to see cars passing by on the road in blurs of movement.

"It's strange, isn't it?" Castiel muses, studying the dust settled around the window's edges. 

"What is?"

"You know, you tell me about the history of the house on Piper Lane, and a few hours later, a fire happens on that very street. Isn't that a bit odd?"

Dean shrugs. "A coincidence, maybe. What, do you think I'm psychic or something? Should I quit my job now and become a fortune teller?"

"I'm just saying it's odd, but life is full of coincidences. I mean, what are the odds that Naomi would end up pairing the two of us together?"

"Well, they do say opposites attract. Maybe that's why she said it," Dean guesses. 

A few minutes later, their food arrives, and Dean immediately takes a bottle of syrup from the side and begins to pour it all over his waffles, until both of them are drenched. Castiel watches him in mild horror as Dean tears off a large piece of waffles and stuff it all into his mouth. 

"What? I like waffles," he says, his voice garbled.

Castiel snorts at him and takes a bottle of ketchup from the side, giving it a shake before pouring it onto the side of his plate. When he cuts off a piece of his omelet, he dips it into the ketchup and places it into his mouth, and this time it's Dean who looks horrified.

"Please don't tell me you're one of those people," Dean half-whispers, his mouth hanging open.

"One of what people?"

"You know, the people that eat eggs with ketchup. That's just gross," Dean says, still watching him.

Rather than feeling self-conscious, Castiel tears off another piece of his omelet and twists it around in the ketchup before eating it. "I think it tastes good."

Dean shudders dramatically before going back to eating his waffles, and they fall into talking about waffles versus pancakes, Castiel eventually conceding that waffles are superior. Placing the last of his omelet into his mouth, Castiel sees Alex arriving with the bill, putting it down onto the table, and that's when Dean clears his throat and looks ay Alex with a charming smile.

"Hi, Alex? Could you go get Ruby and ask her to come over here when she's free?"

Alex turns to look at where Ruby is clearing off the dishes on a table, and then looks back to Dean. "Is there a problem?"

"No, no problem. Just need to talk about something for a minute." When Alex still doesn't look convinced, Dean adds, "I know Benny, and trust me when I say he won't mind us talking to her."

"Is this about a story?" Alex says, but this time to Castiel.

"Yes, it is." He answers, and she nods, walking off with their empty plates. On her way back from the kitchen, she intercepts Ruby and points her in Dean and Castiel's direction, and Ruby raises an eyebrow as she walks over to them, smoothing down her apron.

"Can I help you fellas with something?" Ruby asks as Castiel slides over the booth to make room for her.

"Have a seat," Dean says, pointing to the vacant space next to Castiel. "We got a couple questions for you about the fire you saw the other night."

All humor leaves Ruby's face as she sinks down into the seat, her back growing rigid. "I know you're press, Winchester, but what is there to talk about? I already told the sheriff's office what I saw."

"We get that, but me and Cas here are doing a story about what or who started the fire. It'll only take a couple minutes, promise."

"Fine, shoot," Ruby agrees, sweeping her hair to one side of her shoulder.

It's Castiel who clears his throat and asks the first question, while Dean readies his pen over his notebook paper. "We know that you reported the fire at a quarter till two, and we know that you were with someone named Anna Milton." Ruby hesitantly nods at this. "Did something bring you to that part of town? Because normally, no one strays to that street, and especially not that late."

Ruby coughs before she responds. "Yeah, Anna said she couldn't sleep, so we decided to go for a drive. That's when we drove by that street and saw the flames."

"And Anna is?" Castiel presses.

"She's my girlfriend. We've been living together for the past year," Ruby says. "She has trouble sleeping a lot of nights, so it was nothing new, you know? It's not like we expected to see the woods on fire."

"No one was around when you got there?" Castiel asks.

"Nope. We just saw the fire while we were driving by, so I parked my car a few feet away, and then I took out my phone and dialed 911. After that, it took a few minutes until the firefighters and people from the sheriff's office showed up, I answered a couple of their questions, and then I went home with Anna and we went to bed," Ruby recounts, biting her upper lip when she finishes. Castiel notices the bandage on her left wrist, and Ruby places her hand over it when she sees Castiel looking.

"Did you get hurt during the incident?"

"No, this was from me dropping my knife onto my hand while doing the dishes yesterday," Ruby answers. "Now, look, is that good enough? I should be getting back to the kitchen."

"One last question," Dean says, scribbling down something onto the page. "During the fire, did you hear anything weird?"

"No, nothing besides the sound of flames eating up a bunch of trees," Ruby snips. "We good now?"

"Yeah, you can leave," Dean dismisses. Ruby straightens up the bow of her apron and leaves, just as Dean's shutting his notebook and placing his pen into the spine. "Well, that got us nowhere." Castiel hums in agreement, reaching into his pocket to pull out his wallet to settle the bill. He pulls out cash rather than his card for once, and Dean slaps his hand away when he reaches to put it inside the black bill.

"What are you doing? You don't need to pay for me," Dean says, but Castiel pulls the bill closer to him with his left hand and place the money inside it anyway.

"It's no big deal, Dean. I owe you anyways."

"For what?"

"Well, you didn't let me give you money for helping out with my car the other day, and then you gave me a good deal on my battery, even if you didn't like me that much," Castiel reminds him, and Dean rolls his eyes.

"Didn't I tell you that I-"

"Didn't want my charity? Yes, Dean, I remember, but really, it's alright. You can pay next time," he says, making Dean sigh in defeat.

"Fine, Cas." He still pulls out his wallet and drops money onto the table. "That's for the tip. Now let's get out of here and figure out where we're going next," Dean says, getting up from his seat. Castiel follows him, seeing Ruby giving them a strange look as they exit the diner. 

When they get back to the car, Dean doesn't turn the engine on, and instead stares at the windshield, looking to the shrubbery in front of them.

"Now what do you suppose we do?" Castiel says, snapping Dean out of the daze he fell into.

"I got no clue. I mean, Ruby didn't really say anything that we didn't already know, and I doubt talking to Anna is going to help us if she just tells us the same thing. And I don't wanna get her involved either way."

Castiel narrows his eyes. "Why not?"

"Well, Anna's the last Milton around. You know, her great great whatever was one of the founders of this town, and she's an only child. Her dad died when she was a kid, and her mom stuck around until she skipped town once Anna went to college. I mean, there is another Milton that's her cousin, but last thing I heard, he was in San Francisco. But anyway, after her dad, who was actually mayor, passed, her and her mom moved out of the Milton house and into an apartment in town, but things were never really the same for her ever again. She watched her dad die in front of her. I mean, last time I talked to her was a lot of months ago, and she didn't really say that much, but I know she's doing better now. So, it would suck if people started pointing their fingers at her just cause she's a Milton."

"Why would people think Anna want to burn the woods next to her childhood home?" 

"People are crazy, man. They'll think whatever they want," Dean says, meeting Castiel's eyes.

"Well, does everyone know about Anna's history?"

"Mostly just bits and pieces of it."

"Then how do you know most of it?" Castiel asks.

"Me and her, uh, dated back in high school. Only for a few months during senior year, but we did date. We kept in touch even after we broke up. I mean, we did teach each other a few tricks after all," Dean admits, a smug smile turning up the corner of his mouth.

"Spare me the details," Castiel says, and Dean short laugh makes something flutter in his chest. 

"Okay, you want to head to Piper Lane? See if we can find any clues ourselves?" Dean suggests.

"We're journalists, Dean, not detectives. I doubt there'll be anything useful there for us."

"Come on, it'll be fun," Dean says, and Castiel nods his assent.

Once they're back on the road, they end up going a way Castiel hasn't gone before, not since he came here that first day. The road goes from smooth to almost rough, and they go downhill until they pass through a neighborhood of single family homes. Dean pops in a casette, and a song Castiel is vaguely familiar with starts playing. As Dean hums along, Castiel finds himself drawn to the way the other man looks as he drives, one-handed and comfortable as he makes the turns. It's an ease Castiel wishes he had, but knows he never can, not with the weight on his shoulders. But written into the scars on Dean's knuckles and the shadows under his eyes is a story that Castiel doesn't know yet, but hopes to find out.

Dean's wearing a tan Henley today, with his neck exposed enough that Castiel can't stop staring at it, wondering how far Dean's freckles extend. His skin looks golden, probably because it's summertime. He wonders if Dean works shirtless while he's fixing cars. Which is a strange thing for him to think, because he's not sure he's attracted to Dean, but he does find the man more appealing than most, and combined with his personality, Castiel can't help but want to know him.

"You stare a lot, you know that?" Dean remarks, startling him. He didn't even realize they reached Piper Lane, and the car has been pulled to a stop. 

"I'm sorry," he apologizes, but Dean shakes his head.

"Eh, I don't mind it. Not when it's you doing the staring," Dean teases, before he yanks his keys out opens his door. Castiel follows, his movements almost robotic as he tries to puzzle out what that's supposed to mean. 

Getting outside, the scent of smoke curls around his nose until he lets out a cough, using his hand to wave it away from him.

"Crap, it's still a little smoky out here. Maybe we shouldn't be here after all," Dean says, also coughing at the lingering scent of smoke.

Breathing in through his mouth, Castiel shakes his head. "We should be fine for a couple minutes." Then he notices the yellow caution tapes marked around the area where the fire occurred, but that's nothing compared to the dreary sight that greets him. 

The area where the fire happened isn't too large, but the damage is great. Trees are fallen down, the ground covered in ashes and soot. The brown of the dirt has been mixed in with dark gray, any snatches of green grass gone. Only matted down grass remains, full of splotches of white. Broken branches entwine with rotting timber to make a ghastly mess of shapes and colors. It looks like a wasteland. 

He turns away at the sight, while Dean keeps his eyes glued to the scene, slack-jawed. 

"This is so fucked up," Dean breathes. "It doesn't matter if this was an accident or not, but who would think to set fire to the woods? Like if Ruby and Anna didn't get here when they did, who knows how long the fire could have gone?" 

Castiel claspes his hand on Dean's left shoulder, squeezing it in empathy, for he feels the same way as Dean. "There's no need to linger on what if's, Dean. But I don't think we'll find anything here."

Dean nods, finally tearing his eyes away to look back at Castiel, and then Castiel's hand on his shoulder, but Castiel doesn't pull back just yet. "Me and you are gonna find out who or what did this," Dean says gravely. 

"I know we will," Castiel affirms, finally dropping his arm. "We can start by going back to the office and figuring out what to do next."

"Yeah, let's get out of here." Dean agrees, going back to get into his car, but before they can get into it, a car comes moving past them. Castiel lets out a sigh when he sees the sheriff logo on the side of the car, knowing what's going to come next. Lots of questions.

Jody comes to a stop right beside him, two people coming out of the car and going straight to the burned woods, while Jody begins approaching them.

"Dean and Castiel? What are you two doing here?" She asks, tucking a walkie talkie into her belt.

"We were just looking around, got a little curious," Dean says.

"Yes, we're doing a story on the fire," Castiel adds.

"Right, well, you're really not supposed to be over here, so I'm gonna have to ask you boys to kindly leave. We still don't know how stable some of these trees are," Jody advises, and Castiel already begins backing away, hoping to come out of this unscathed, but of course, he's never been lucky. "And Cas? I meant it when I said you can come back for dinner whenever you want. Don't be a stranger," she says with a smile, walking away.

Dean pauses in his retreat and gives him a calculating look. "Are you and Jody dating?" Dean asks, which is the last thing Castiel expected to come out of his mouth.

"What?"

"Well, she said you can come back for dinner whenever, so..." He trails off, shrugging his shoulder. 

"No, she's my niece's guardian," Castiel blurts out.

"What?" Dean says.

"My niece Claire is living with Jody right now, and has been ever since Amelia passed away. Alex also lives with them, which is how I know her," Castiel admits, and Dean lets out a soft _oh_.

"Right, I think I heard about that. So that's why you went to dinner at her house. Are you and Claire on good terms?"

Castiel lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "Not at all."

Dean must sense his hesitation, since for the second time this morning, he lets the subject drop. "Right, well, let's head back to work. Maybe ask Charlie or Kevin about what we should do next, if they're free."

Just as Dean's making a U-turn to go back into town, Castiel catches his first glimpse of the Milton house, with its long gravel pathway and white mailbox. They drive by too quickly for him to get a better look, but Castiel notes the way it seems to loom over the land, as if it looks down on all who pass. 

• • • 

While proofreading their story two days later, Castiel feels like he and Dean did the best they could with what they had, but they still aren't doing the story justice. What the people deserve to know is why there was a fire, and what they can do to prevent one from happening again. What if it occurs again in a forest closer to the center of town? What if it happens in a building where there are a lot of people? Without being able to identify a culprit or a natural cause, it leaves the people guessing, Castiel included. It's scary to know that something so terrible can happen at any time, without rhyme or reason.

In the end, he and Dean ended up including some of Ruby's words, along with the account of one of the firefighters they interviewed that was at the scene. He told them about the way the fire was easy enough to put out, even though it occurred in the forest, but that's because Ruby called them just as it was beginning to start. Of course, they didn't include that last part, just in case people started pointing figures at both Ruby and Anna for doing something amiss and then feeling guilty about it. Which, truly, makes little to no sense, because people don't turn into arsonists without a reason for doing so, and there are no logical reasons why either woman would do so. The facts just don't add up.

If no one saw the fire, if Ruby and Anna hadn't been there, Castiel wonders how much devastation it could have caused on the town. A tree falls in the forest, and no one's there to hear it, it does make a sound. It can lead to wildfire.

He scans the article one last time before handing his laptop off to Dean with a groan. "I think that's the best we're ever going to get."

Dean gives a cursory glance to the article and nods in agreement. "Yeah, you're right. Hopefully Hannah and Zeke don't rip us a new one when they read it. I mean, I don't even know if Naomi's gonna be good with it, if we haven't even found anything out."

And they did try to piece things together. At first, they considered that teenagers had been lighting up in the woods after the festival, and accidentally left a lit match on the forest floor, which spiraled into the fire. In fact, teenagers went around that area all the time, according to Jody, but he doubts a single match could cause that much destruction. And most, if not all, teenagers were accounted for during that night, since many had been exhausted after the festival. Or maybe Castiel just doesn't want to believe any of them were careless enough to set the woods ablaze. 

Then they had considered it being an accident, that something, somehow caused a fire. Some chemicals mixed and an explosion occurred, but even Castiel knows that's not logical. There can't be a fire without a catalyst.

Which is how he and Dean came to the conclusion that someone had to set the fire on purpose. The person must have known that most people would be in the town by the festival, that no one would be there on Piper Lane while they were throwing down gallons of gasoline, or whatever they did. The sheriff's office and all the firefighters were busy patrolling the festival at the time, and none of them had time to go to such an abandoned area. It was perfect timing.

"Do you want to go out and get some dinner?" Dean asks him.

"It's only five, Dean, I don't think it's time for dinner yet."

"Fine, you want to meet back later on for some food? I think Sam and Jess want to take me to this new salad bar that opened in the next town, and I'm not sure I can survive if I go there alone."

"And why would that be?" Castiel asks, amused.

"Because me and salad don't mix. We're like oil and water."

Castiel takes back his laptop from Dean and shuts it, placing it into the bag at his feet. Dean moved over to his desk to read over his shoulder earlier, and the two of them are still sitting incredibly close. If he turns his head a little further, he would be able to feel Dean's breath on his neck.

"Maybe next time," Castiel finds himself saying. "But tell Sam and Jess I say hi."

"Ugh, fine. I'll find someone else to come with me," Dean sighs, finally rolling back over to where his desk is. "Do you think Charlie would be up for it?"

Charlie left a half hour ago, going to meet with Dorothy after she submitted her draft. "If you can drag her away from Dorothy."

Dean shakes his head. "They're probably making out right now, and I don't think she'll want to leave during that. I'll just try to find a way out of it somehow, maybe fake being sick if I have to."

"Good luck with that," Castiel says, getting up from his chair as Dean packs away the things on his desk. Hannah awkwardly waves at him as he leaves, and he gives a small wave back. For the first time in a long time, he feels a lot better about his situation. Slowly, but surely, he's finding a space for himself.

On the drive home, he looks around at all the people walking on the streets, just like the first time he came to town. Even though something so horrible happened to this town only a few days ago, it seems to be trying to move on. He hopes the article he and Dean wrote can clarify things, and hopefully won't become a thing of gossip. Treading the line between informative and entertaining is always difficult when it comes to journalism, but it's something he thinks they managed to do. 

Putting it out of his mind, he continues on the drive back to his house. He walks silently up to the porch, deciding that he should find a lawnmower this weekend and trim the grass. It's growing longer and longer. The inside of his house is as silent as it was this morning before he left, and he misses the brightness of the newspaper office. When he's there, at least he has Charlie, Kevin, and Dean to talk to. Dean, who's becoming the kind of friend he's always wanted and never had.

Castiel goes up the stairs and instead of going straight into his bedroom, he finds himself in his office. The bookshelves that were once empty in it are almost filled, now that he managed to unpack all his books. Maybe he'll reread something tonight, if he feels up to it. 

He runs his fingers up and down the spines of the books, most of them with soft covers. He passes by Vonnegut and King, books in every genre, but all important to him for one reason or another. Somehow, he finds his fingers catching on the cover of his own book. Pulling it out, he sees the familiar trees on the front cover, reminding him of the sight he saw two days ago on Piper Lane. The trees on the cover of his book are bare of leaves, with a lake along the bottom of it.

When he'd been writing it, he had been a mess. His mouth was either glued to the lip of a bottle, or he was nursing a hangover. At one point, he'd thrown his phone at a wall, but that's just what happens when someone loses their last family member. And he regrets, even today, how he never got a chance to properly reconcile with Jimmy. That just when they were beginning to figure things out, Jimmy was snatched away from him.

It had been a car accident that had ended his life. Jimmy was coming home from work late one night, and a drunk driver ended up colliding with his car on the driver's side. The doctors said he had been dead before he even got to the hospital. 

Castiel doesn't remember a lot of that night. He remembers being in that waiting room with Amelia and Claire, waiting for the doctors to come and say that a miracle had taken place, that Jimmy was somehow still alive, but nothing of the sort had happened. Instead, they got a time of death and eventually, a death certificate. And Castiel knows what it's like to lose a parent, in fact, he knows what it's like to lose two of them. Of course, his parents had also died in an accident when Castiel had been three years old, and he has no real memories of them. And then they'd moved across the block to live with his aunt and uncle, who had served as the only parents he'd ever known. They hadn't given him much attention, not until it came time for college and Castiel decided he didn't want to follow the footsteps of his family and join their cause. After that, there had been screaming and Castiel losing ties with all of his family members, except for Gabriel. The next time he saw them was Jimmy's funeral, almost seven years later.

Rather than flip through the book and allow taped together wounds to open back up, he places it back in its spot and falls to the ground to lean against the bookshelf. He doesn't know if he does it consciously, but he takes out his phone and thumbs through his contacts, trying to find someone who's willing to deal with him when he's in a mood like this. He could call Dean, and he truly wants to, but the two of them have just begun navigating their friendship. He doesn't want to burden Dean like this, not when he's most likely out with Sam and Jess. 

Instead he calls Meg and closes his eyes as he lets the phone ring, until she doesn't pick up and it goes to voicemail. She's probably busy doing important things that aren't sulking alone on a Thursday night. 

However, a couple seconds later, his phone starts ringing by itself, and he presses the talk button before he can look to see who it is, assuming it's Meg.

"Hello?" He says into it.

"Castiel? Are you free to talk?" A voice says, and sure, it's a female voice, but not the one he was expecting to hear.

"Claire? Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, everything's fine. Well, it's not fine, but I'm not in any immediate danger right now, so that's a good thing. I was just calling because Alex mentioned seeing you the other day."

Castiel isn't quite sure why that leads to Claire calling him, but he hums into the phone to confirm it anyway. "Yes, I saw her while she was at work."

"Yeah, well, she was talking to her coworker Ruby, who said you came there to ask some questions about that fire that happened. Alex said you were doing a story in the paper about it?" Claire asks. 

"Yes, me and Dean are. Well, we were during the week, but we finished it. It'll be in the paper on Sunday, if you read that sort of thing." He doesn't know why Claire called him to talk about this after she practically denounced him at dinner the other day.

"Dude," Claire snorts, "I live in Cedar Woods. Of course I read the paper," she says, then the line falls silent, until Castiel hears a rustling noise. "But anyways, I just called to tell you that I heard about your story, and I think it's cool that you're trying to figure things out. I mean, Jody won't tell me shit about what she knows, but you probably know more than her, right?"

"Probably not. Me and Dean haven't figured out anything substantial," Castiel says, and then it clicks for him. "Claire, did you just call me to figure out what caused the fire?"

"I mean, I guessed you were the most reliable source right now about the fire. Not that you've been reliable in the past, but I figured it was worth a shot." she reminds him, and he knows he shouldn't let her words get to him, but they do anyways, and he closes his eyes. 

"Listen, Claire, I know that's true, and I'm sorry. I came here to make things better."

"Yeah, well, ever considered how my life is better without you in it?" She almost yells, and Castiel opens his eyes back up, already giving up the fight before it can even begin. He's tired. "So, do you know who or what started the fire or not?" Claire asks him.

"May I ask why you're so curious about it?"

"Maybe I just want to know what's going on. So I can protect myself and all that, you know, just in case it happens again," Claire replies, but Castiel can tell she's not telling the full truth.

"Alright, well, maybe things will become clearer in the days to come, but for now, I have no news to tell you. We still don't know who or what did it. Perhaps the culprit will read the article in the paper and decide that he or she should come clean about it," Castiel suggests. He stares down at the hardwood floor beneath him, eyeing the dust in the cracks of the wood.

"Yeah, okay."

He decides to take his chances, just in case he never gets the opportunity again. "Claire, if you ever need anything-"

"Listen, I gotta go. I'll talk to you some other time," Claire rushes out, then ends the call. Castiel pulls the phone away from his ear, wondering how Claire managed to get his number, before he saves it into his contacts. He also wonders why she was so anxious to find out about the fire. For a moment, he considers a scenario where Claire knows something about who started the fire, and trying to see if anyone knows what she knows, but he lets go of that train of thought. He doubts that Claire would have any reason to hide something like that, and she probably wouldn't be able to if she lives with the county sheriff.

Castiel runs a palm down his face, forcing himself to get up off the floor and change into more comfortable clothes. Claire calling him at all is something he never expected, and he lets that sink in, but it just isn't enough to wash away the heavy feeling in his stomach, no matter how hard he tries.


	6. Five

Entering his house, he comes across a set of muddy footsteps and a steady trail of blood leading through his hallway. Castiel follows it, his heartbeat kicking up a few notches until he can feel the _thud, thud, thud_ of it in his throat. 

Coming into the living room, he sees a figure turned away from him, the man's shoulders curled in on themselves. He approaches the man slowly, reaching a palm out to turn the man around, but as soon as Castiel's fingers catch on the man's shirtsleeve, the man bursts into flames. 

Letting out a breath, Castiel jerks back, shaking as he tries to figure out what to do next. His heartbeat thrums wildly until the man turns to him, his face visible among the flames. It's Jimmy. 

"Castiel," the distorted image of Jimmy says, reaching out as if to touch him. "Castiel, come here." 

His legs carry him backwards into the kitchen, where he bumps into the counter as Jimmy moves closer and closer to him, his fingers still outstretched. 

"Please, Castiel. I promise it'll be okay," Jimmy pleads with him, and that's when Castiel notices the way Jimmy's torso is cut up, blood still pouring out even as the rest of him is engulfed in flames. Looking left and right, it seems as if the kitchen is getting narrower, closing in around him, and Castiel can't breathe, can't think of what to do next.

So he does what he does best, and he runs. 

The doorway leading into the living room he never uses seems to be closing off, as if it's shutting itself away. He struggles to go to it, but he is endlessly running, his feet eventually catching on the floor until he slips onto his knees.

"Come back, Cas. Don't go away like this again," Jimmy's voice calls, but Castiel can't see him anymore.

He chokes down the hysteria rising in his throat and starts crawling toward the doorway. "I'm sorry, Jimmy," he manages to say, but he's still scrambling to leave. When he does reach the living room, he turns around to see that Jimmy isn't there anymore, and then Castiel begins to doubt that he was even there in the first place. He goes over to his front door and finds that there's no mud tracks, no sign of Jimmy's blood left on the floor. 

And then he hears a knock on the door.

Opening it up, he expects to see Jimmy's burning body on the other side, but instead, it's Dean, and Castiel rushes into his arms, hugging the other man tightly to his body.

"Oh, Dean, thank god. The strangest thing just happened to me," Castiel says, his face buried in Dean's neck. He lets out a breath that rattles on the way out. "I thought I saw Jimmy burning and bleeding in my living room, and then he wouldn't get away from me, so I tried to leave, and I couldn't at first, but then I managed to crawl away. You have no idea how happy I am to see you here." He pulls back so that he can see Dean's face, but freezes at what he sees: nothingness.

Dean's expression is blank, but his eyes bore into Castiel's, no longer the breathtaking green that he's familiar with, but a dark emerald that has Castiel flinching away from him.

"Dean?" He says, but it's clear that whoever this man is, it's not his Dean. 

Castiel starts moving backwards again, but his back hits a wall, and then he's paralyzed in place, and _he can't move_. He tries to lift his limbs, but his muscles stay locked in place even as panic starts rising up in him. 

So he has a perfect view to see the exact moment that Dean reaches out to cup his cheek, his hold no longer warm, but cold. Then, Castiel hears something crack, and Dean's body lights on fire.

It's just like it had been with Jimmy, but it's somehow worse, because Dean's not saying anything, not showing any emotions. Castiel reaches out to do something, anything, but he still can't move and Dean's hand is still around his cheek, but he can't feel any of the fire. He can barely feel his body.

"No, please no," Castiel says, but it comes out as a garbled noise. "Please don't-" 

And that's how Castiel wakes up, his breath coming in short gasps, the bed sheets tangled around his ankles. He gets up on shaky legs and goes to the bathroom, hand shaking as he turns on the light switch. 

Without looking into the mirror, he splashes cold water onto his face and tries to will his heartbeat to slow down, but instead ends up white knuckling the edges of the counter, water still running from the tap. He tries to focus on anything that isn't the dream, no, nightmare, he just had, but it keeps coming back to him. He sees Jimmy's broken body bleeding and caught up in flames, he sees the way Dean looked at him so blankly, as if he couldn't see anything worth looking at in Castiel. Nightmares aren't uncommon for him, but it's never anything like this. Nothing this vivid or horrifying.

Eventually, he turns off the faucet and goes back into his bedroom, seeing the moonlight cast across the floor from his open window. It's a sight that he hasn't gotten familiar with yet, so used to sleeping in pitch black in his old apartment, but he thinks the light does wonders to settle the storm in his head. 

It's obvious that he won't be falling asleep, not for a while, so he goes over to his nightstand and flickers on the lamp, giving a little more radiance to the room. His eyes fall onto the book he put there a few weeks ago, the one he picked up from Rowena at the festival. He never did get a chance to read it.

Now seems like a good time as any, so he takes it into his hand and settles into his bed, propping his pillow up against the headboard as a cushion for his back. 

Castiel rubs his eyes just as he opens up the book. It was written many years ago, according to the copyright date, but he finds himself getting immersed in the stories and legends the book tells. He reads about stories and figures, not sure if what he's reading is real or not. It goes from myths like that of Orpheus and Eurydice, to the council members of the republic. It doesn't make much sense for Rowena to have been selling a book like this, one that doesn't have anything to do with the spell work and magic she seems to thrive off it. There's nothing to remarkable about the book, just filled with fiction and fact, leaving Castiel to puzzle out what's true and what's not.

When he manages to put it down, he's feeling more confused than anything, but thankfully, his heart isn't trying to beat out of his chest anymore.

Castiel places the book into a drawer of his beside table, his eyes taking a look at the clock and seeing that it's half past three. It's going to be a challenge to wake up in less than four hours.

He pulls the pillow back down and allows his head to fall onto it. He must fall asleep, but when his alarm rings, he doesn't feel like he slept at all.

By the time he's downstairs and drinking coffee, his head still feels fuzzy, as if part of him is stuck in the land of the unconscious. At least it keeps his mind off of his dream, where he had been trapped in his kitchen with Jimmy on fire. 

Well, maybe thinking about how he's not thinking about it serves to do the opposite. 

Just as he does every morning now, Castiel places his empty mug into the sink and goes outside to sit on his porch. He accidentally left yesterday's newspaper on the table, but picks it back up now. Next to it is also the stray pen he left, so he takes the cap off with his teeth and flips to the crossword puzzle page to finish what he started. 

A couple minutes later, he hears the familiar growl of an engine, but he doesn't go out to his driveway like he normally does. He waits for the engine to cut and footsteps to sound on his porch, but keeps his eyes on the newspaper.

"What's a nine letter word for the most valuable Monopoly property?" Castiel asks.

"Boardwalk," Dean replies, and Castiel can hear the smile in his voice. He fills in the word on his paper, the word fitting perfectly.

"Thank you." Castiel puts the cap back on his pen, before placing it onto the table beside the newspaper.

"Hey, what are friends for?" Dean says, and finally Castiel looks up at him. Dean's wearing his trademark grin, leaning back against the railing of the porch, hands crossed in front of him. The sun seems to pale in comparison to him. He looks nothing like the face Castiel remembers from his dream, so Castiel lets out a breath and stands up. "You ready to go?"

"Yes, sorry, I just wanted to finish the puzzle, but I couldn't figure that last one out."

"Why? Never play Monopoly? " Dean asks him as they begin walking down the porch steps. The sun seems to be missing from the sky today, and it's been getting progressively cooler as summer turns to autumn. Of course, it's only the last week of August, but soon the leaves will change colors and he'll be trading his t-shirt for sweaters.

"I did a few times, but not enough, I suppose," Castiel answers, which is a harsh truth. Living with Uncle Zachariah, it was always praying before playtime, no matter how much Castiel wanted to go to the park or ride his bike.

They go into Dean's car, Castiel relaxing back into the passenger seat after being in here a few times. A couple weeks ago, he and Dean decided that rather than Castiel take his car to work everyday, since Dean considered it a disaster waiting to happen, Dean would drive Castiel to work on Mondays and Thursdays. Those are the only days of the week where their schedules are set and they have to stay in the office all day, now that he and Dean work on separate assignments.

Naomi had ended up loving their speculative article about the fire, commending it in front of everyone. She said it gave just enough information to keep people guessing, but to also satisfy some of their fears. Luckily, everyone's begun to forget the fire by now, some considering it an accident, while other's just ignore it for their own sanity. Castiel's part of the latter group.

"What do you think it's gonna be today?" Dean asks out of the blue.

"Hmm?"

"What do you think Naomi's gonna assign us today?"

"Us? You think she's going to give us a joint assignment after last time?"

"Okay, no. I didn't mean that, but now that you mention it, I don't think it would be that horrible if she did," Dean says, eyes still on the road in front of him.

"What? You liked working with me that much?" Castiel says with a small grin.

Dean huffs. "I was going to say yes, but now I'm not so sure I want to," is what comes out of Dean's mouth, but he's fighting a smile. 

The half-grin on Castiel's face stays even when they get into the conference room, Victor reading out names and topics. Castiel ends up getting assigned back to school preparations, and he wonders if Jess would be available for him to talk to. The last time they talked to each other was on Friday night, when he had dinner at Sam and Jessica's house after work. She had been stressed with creating lesson plans for the past week, but maybe she would say yes to getting interviewed. That is how they met, after all. 

He alternates between looking through the school district's website and searching through their calendar. He wants to focus on every school: elementary, middle, and high, but that's going to be difficult to do within a thousand words. Then, he also could write more about the faculty, but he wants to make it about the student's too, because while the faculty may not have changed, the student's mindsets since summer have. He does wonder how he's going to interview a teenager, if he has to. He could go to Claire, since she's going to be a senior in high school this year, and ask her questions, but then he decides that's not going to be happening anytime soon. Maybe he could go to Alex.

Halfway through the day, Kevin comes up to his desk and looks like he feels sorry for interrupting Castiel, so Castiel gives him a reassuring smile.

"Yes?"

"Naomi caught me on my way back from lunch and asked me to send you into her office," Kevin informs him, sitting down behind the desk in front of Castiel.

"Did she say what for?" Castiel asks, closing the lid of his laptop.

"No, she didn't say anything about that, but it didn't sound that important? So, it's nothing you should worry about anyways," Kevin reassures, then turns around in his chair. Castiel sees Dean looking at him from where he. sits behind his own desk, but Castiel just gets up and walks through the aisle, down to where Naomi's office is. He hasn't been in here since his first day, and he can't help but remember how nervous he was.

He knocks his knuckles on the door, even though it's wide open, and walks in to see Naomi standing at a filing cabinet. She's wearing a gray pantsuit, like she normally wears, even though everyone else at the office wears far less formal attire. Her hair is perfectly in place, as it always is.

"Castiel, thank you for coming here." She walks around to her seat, moving into it delicately. "Please, sit," Naomi says, gesturing to the chair in front of her.

Just like he did that first time, Castiel sits down and rests his hands into his lap. "Do have something to ask of me?"

"Yes, I do have some questions. But first, may I ask how you're settling into town?"

"I think I'm finding a place for myself here. The community has been incredibly welcoming."

"I agree, the people are all lovely. Do you think you'll be staying here long term? Or are you interested in doing something else later on?" Naomi questions, leaning forward in her seat. 

"I haven't thought ahead too much, but I think I'll be here for in town for a while. As for working here at the newspaper, I can say that I have found work," a beat, "enjoyable, and I don't think I'll be looking for a new job anytime soon."

"That's good to hear. I only ask because well, you're meant for something better than working at a small town newspaper, isn't that right?" Naomi says, her voice clipped. Castiel isn't sure why she's being so cold to him.

"I wouldn't say that. Working here is better than any job I've had in the past."

"Really?" Naomi tilts her head, as if scrutinizing him. "Do you mean that? I was under the impression that writing a book was far more interesting and profitable than a job here."

"Writing my novel was something I took pride in," he says, lying slightly, "but doing stories about the town has let me connect with people in a way I wasn't able to when I was sitting in bed, typing up a novel. Do you have a problem with me being a writer?"

"Forgive me, I just wanted to make sure your loyalty to the newspaper was here. I was worried you would leave us to go write another bestseller," Naomi admits, looking to the side. Her eyes trace over the left of the room, and she looks almost relieved.

"It'll be a while before I write my next book," Castiel says, and this finally seems to satisfy her.

She nods and meets Castiel's eyes again. "Then you won't have a problem doing another article with Dean?"

"What?"

"I was thinking last night, that you and Dean should look back into the fire, try to figure things out," Naomi says, and Castiel knows that she only wants another story like before because it will make more papers sell. But he also feels that Naomi must have some feelings about the people, if she works so hard to keep them informed. 

And he tries not to think about his dream, now that fire has been mentioned. He's been able to keep it off his mind for the last few hours, but that's probably because Dean was sitting a few feet away from him, and if Castiel needed confirmation that Dean wasn't turning into ash, all he needed to do was turn his head.

"Is it a good idea to bring the fire up again when people have just begun to move past it?" Won't bringing back the incident just bring back fears that have only started being put to rest? He remembers hearing the sirens that night as the firefighters went to eradicate the fire, and it would be great if something like that never happens again. 

Naomi purses her lips but nods. "No, I don't think it'll have a negative impact. In fact, it can only have a positive effect, if you and Dean do get to the bottom of this."

"Shouldn't we leave this to the detectives? To the sheriff?" He and Jody spoke the other day when they ran into each other at the coffee shop. She had been wearing her casual clothing, it being her day off, and she told him about an abduction case in the town over that was occupying her time. Because of that, she had to drop the investigation on the fire, handing it off to one of her deputies.

"If they haven't managed to find anything yet, who is to say they will now?" Naomi says, and Castiel wants to respond saying that if they haven't found substantial evidence, then he and Dean will not be able to discover anything new either, but if this is what Naomi wants, then he should take the job.

"I'll do it, but I need to ask Dean about it first," he says, leaning back in his chair as if to get up.

"That won't be necessary. I already talked to Dean earlier this morning, and he told me yes."

"Oh, then never mind."

"Yes, well, you can go back and talk to him now if you would like. The article doesn't have to be written immediately, since you've both been given other assignments. Think of it as a side project," Naomi tells him, a glint in her eyes. 

Going back to his desk, Castiel wonders if he had the dream he had because he never got closure about the Piper Lane fire. If he's seeing Jimmy and Dean burn now, he can't imagine what will come next. Who will come next. 

Maybe it is worth investigating, no matter what the cost.

• • •

"Do you want to? I mean, it's your choice, Cas," Dean asks, for the second time.

"Yes, what's the harm in going, right?" Castiel says as they sit idle in Dean's car, in the parking lot of the town square. He and Dean have both decided not to look into the fire again until they have more time on their hands, but it's Thursday evening now, and their stories are submitted. There's no way for them to avoid it now.

"You really think so? I mean, no one's lived there for decades, and I'm pretty sure it's just one giant dust pile. What if there's termites eating up the floor, and it collapses under us?"

"Dean, I highly doubt that there's been that much damage done to the house. And I'm sure they do inspections of it all the time," Castiel says. "If we don't do it now, I doubt we'll ever have the courage."

"Yeah, fine. Don't blame me if you end up falling through the floor." Dean starts up the car engine and begins the journey across town to where the Milton house is. Castiel doesn't know why, but he woke up this morning wanting to go there. It's not as if there will be clues to find there, but he wonders if there is something inside that will make the situation clearer. After all, the Milton house is the only structure on the whole street, and if someone wanted to hide something, they could have stashed it there. No one is said to go to the house anymore.

Going without a search warrant can land them in trouble, but Castiel doubts anyone would come that way.

His suspicions are proved true when they barely pass any cars on the ride there, the car silent for once as Dean hasn't put any tapes in. In fact, Dean's face almost looks pensive, as if he's lost in thought.

"Dean?" When he gets no response, he tries again. "Dean? Are you alright?"

Blinking slowly, Dean glances at him before looking back at the road. "Yeah, I'm good. Why do you ask?"

"You were really quiet there for a while. It was out of character for you," Castiel jokes, trying his best to lighten the atmosphere. 

Dean's lip twitch, and Castiel considers it a victory. "Well, it's been a long day, a long week."

"It has. At least tomorrow is Friday."

"Well, I have a shift at Bobby's after I get out of work tomorrow, and another couple on Saturday and Sunday." Dean scrubs his right hand over his face, as if that can wipe the exhaustion from it, but it remains under his eyes, in the hollows of his cheeks. 

"Do you always work so many days?"

"No, I'm usually free on Sunday's, but Ash had tried to reschedule because he's going out of town this weekend, so I took his shift on Sunday, and he'll be taking my Friday next week. Working there doesn't feel like a chore or a job, anyways. It feels like a hobby to me."

"Did you work on cars while growing up?"

"Yeah, a little bit with my dad. He always wanted me to become a mechanic, but then I ended up following in mom's footsteps instead. It took him a while to come around to the idea of me being a journalist. Not that I wanted or needed his approval, not after he-" Dean cuts off, shaking his head and his sentence away. "But that doesn't matter anymore. I love being a journalist, and I love being a mechanic."

"My family didn't approve of my career path either, but I chose what I wanted to do in the end," Castiel says, feeling that he has to share some of his past if Dean gave Castiel a snippet of his own. Castiel knows that Dean's father passed away from a heart attack a little over a year ago, but he doesn't know more than that. And Dean can't be blamed for not being open about his past, not when Castiel has been keeping away parts of his own. They're good friends, maybe can even be best friends one day, but Castiel doesn't know if he can open himself up. If he lets Dean see all his flaws, where he's failed on multiple accounts, would Dean still be here? The answer is no, obviously, since Dean wouldn't want to associate with someone that abandons their family. If there's one thing Castiel's learned about Dean in the past month, it's that family means the most to him, that he would place Sam's happiness before his own any day. So, if Castiel mentioned how he let go when Claire and Amelia needed him to be there, Dean would turn him away in disgust.

"Yeah, and it worked out great for you. I mean, you're only twenty-nine, and you already got a New York Time's bestseller. That's got to be a record or something," Dean mentions, and Castiel looks at him in confusion. 

"How do you know my age?" He's never mentioned it before.

"I, uh, may have looked you up on Wikipedia the day after I met you." Castiel raises his left eyebrow at him, and Dean rushes to add, "Just so I could see some facts and stuff." Castiel watches as a rosy tint arises on his cheeks.

"You really looked me up?" Castiel's never looked at his Wikipedia, but he doubts it goes into detail about his personal life. He's managed to keep most of it private, with the help of Meg. 

"Hey, if I was famous, you would do the same thing."

"I'm not famous. You didn't even know what I looked like before we met, even though you'd read my book."

"Yeah, well, that doesn't mean anything. People probably have fanclubs about _The Woodlands_."

Castiel sighs, but doesn't try to refute that. At one of his signings, he met a woman who had claimed to be his number one fan, then proceeded to shake his hand for longer than was socially acceptable. And then she had begged him to write a sequel to his book. Castiel's just lucky she hadn't been like Annie Wilkes. 

"What about you?" Castiel asks.

"What about what?"

"How old are you, I mean."

Dean turns off onto Piper Lane, now moving slowly down the street. They pass by the woods where the fire took place. "I turned twenty-eight in January. Why, you saying I look older than that?"

Castiel wants to tell him yes. That with the way Dean carries himself, with the way he works so hard every day, he looks far older than twenty-eight, but then Dean might take it the wrong way. Because Dean's accomplishments may age him, but they also show that Dean has managed to do so much before he's even three decades old. 

"No, I don't think so," Castiel replies, jerking forward a little as Dean parks the car. Both of them climb out, and Castiel feels his breath puff out in a gasp as he gets his first good look at the house.

For something that hasn't been properly taken care of in years, it doesn't look its age. A large, sloping roof with a chimney peeking out in the corner. A long, wooden porch that has a dusty rocking chair on it, along with a multitude of windows. The tan and dusty gray wood that makes it up looks a little worn, but mostly intact. The one thing that unsettles Castiel the most is way most of the lawn looks to be in good shape, with grass that's a little too long, but then there's dying patches of grass dotted along the long driveway. All the window shutters are black.

"Well, this is creepy," Dean says, before making his way up the long driveway, leaving Castiel to follow. Stray twigs litter the walk, breaking under Castiel's feet. 

The door is locked, obviously, but Dean pulls out a long, twisted piece of metal that looks like a large paper clip taken apart.

"Are you sure this will work?" Castiel asks, having second thoughts now that he's standing here. Breaking into a house never sounded like a good idea in the first place, but it seemed feasible. Having to ask a government official for the keys would have resulted in them being turned down, and would have been suspicious. He really hopes Jody doesn't catch wind of this.

Castiel hears a soft click, and then Dean is wiggling the rusted doorknob until it pushes open. "We're in," Dean says with a grin.

"Do I want to know why you know how to break into homes?"

"Probably not, but maybe I'll tell you one day," Dean says, stepping into the house. When Castiel does the same, he starts coughing immediately, choking on the dust in the air, but Dean doesn't look as affected as him. "Cas? You okay?" An arm comes to settle around Castiel as he hunches in on himself and coughs. Dean's touch grounds him.

"I'm okay," Castiel chokes out, then tries to clear his throat. "Must be all the dust."

"Yeah, you're telling me. This place could use a wash or six." Dean's arm remains curled around Castiel even as he straightens up, and Castiel tries not to lean into it as much as he wants to.

"Should we explore the rooms? Or are you still afraid of the floor collapsing?" Castiel teases, making Dean roll his eyes and take his arm away from Castiel. He misses it already.

The room they're standing in looks to be foyer and directly in front of him is a spiral staircase, a twisted metal railing along its side. He would rather not venture upstairs, since he doubts whoever came in here did. _If_ someone came in here.  

"You want to split up? You take the right side and I take the left?" Dean offers.

Castiel shakes his head. "No, I think it's best if we stay together."

"You're right. Splitting up is how the Mystery Gang always ends up running into trouble," Dean agrees, following Castiel into the right room. It has cream sofas in it, artwork of flowers along its walls, and a large table in the center, but nothing else. "Living room, I'm guessing."

They continue into the next room, which looks to be the dining room. A large china cabinet takes up the right side, an eight person table in the center. There are unlit candles all over its surface, in various colors and heights. Castiel picks a small blue one, bringing it to his nose, and it smells like the ocean. "Do you think someone left these in the room? Candles could have been used to start the flame."

"Yeah, but why use candles to start a fire when you can just use a lighter?" Dean points out, hesitant to pick any of the candles up. Castiel doesn't blame him; they're dusty.

"I suppose these could have been left here a while ago, since they're full of dust, but they still give off scents," Castiel says, bringing up the candle in his hand to Dean's nose. Leaning into it, Dean sniffs, but pulls away with a shrug.

"Smells a little bit like the beach."

"Yes, I thought the same thing," Castiel agrees as he puts the candle back into its place. 

Searching the kitchen, family room, and second dining room doesn't bring up any other clues, and Castiel begins to think that they're not going to find anything, but they decide to also see the rooms on the ground floor.

The first door is a bathroom, and there seems to be a spiderweb along the corner of the bathtub.

"I don't get it. If this place is government property, why don't they do a better job of keeping it in good shape?"

"Maybe no one wants to come inside?" Castiel says, which very well may be true.

"Okay, yeah, but what if the next mayor wants to live here? They'll have a hell of a time getting this place clean," Dean mutters, before pulling open the next door, revealing a linen closet.

It isn't until they get into the second bedroom on the floor that Castiel feels incredibly uneasy, something in the air shifting almost. The floorboards creak under his weight, torn up in the corners. All that's in the room is a bed and a nightstand with a lamp on it, not chests, drawers, or mirrors. There's a small closet door in the corner. The air seems colder than earlier, and Castiel is drawn to the bare wall, running his fingers along it.

"What are you doing?" He hears behind him, but he doesn't turn around. 

"I don't know." Because he doesn't. The wall is smooth, unblemished except for a faint gray lines. It's also cold. Part of him feels a little strange the longer he stands there, and then his head starts to spin. His fingers are covered in dusts, he notices, as he looks at his palm. His leg feel weak under him, like they've both decided to fall asleep. "It's almost as if-"

He collapses onto the floor.

"Hey! Cas, what the hell?" Dean says, running across the room to him and pulling him upright to lean into his shoulder. The arm around him is back. "Alright, that's it. We're getting you out of here. The dust is probably starting to fuck with your head," Dean decides, navigating through the house with Castiel like dead weight next to him. Castiel presses his cheek onto Dean's shoulder, trying to stop the pounding inside of his skull. 

When they get back outside, Dean pulling the door shut behind them, Castiel finally feels better. He takes in a deep lungful of air, able to walk on his own, but not until he and Dean are down the porch steps. The grass is wet when they step onto it. So is the pavement by the Impala.

"We were in there for all of fifteen minutes. How did it manage to rain and stop within that time?" Dean wonders aloud, pulling open the driver's door. The air is no less humid than it was earlier, but the sky is still cloudy. There's a sweet scent in the air, since it's the first time it's rained in weeks. Petrichor, he thinks.

Whether Dean is aware of it or not, he ends up driving both of them back to Dean's house, rather than drop Castiel off at his home. 

He really must do it unconsciously, because he turns off the engine, looks out the window and blinks. "Fuck, I forgot to drop you off," Dean curses, moving to put his key back inside.

Castiel puts his hand over Dean's, trying to ignore the spark of warmth that moves through him when their fingers touch. "I can go home later, if you're okay with that."

Dean nods, getting out of the car. "Okay, yeah. You shouldn't be alone, anyways, considering you almost passed out."

"I did not 'almost pass out'," Castiel says with air quotes, and Dean snorts.

"Yeah, then why did you hit the floor?" They walk up to Dean's front door, and step into the house. For something with only two bedrooms and bathroom, the space is larger than it looks from the outside. Castiel recalls the first time he came into Dean's house, and he was taken aback at how neat and orderly the place looked. It's like it came straight out of a magazine.

"You're exaggerating."

"I'm really not, Cas. You should probably lie down or something," Dean says, pointing to the couch. "Do you feel lightheaded? Like you're going to pass out again?" Dean presses his palm against Castiel's forehead, glancing concernedly over his face, and now Castiel feels hot for a whole different reason. 

"I'm fine." 

Dean still doesn't look convinced, but lets him go. "Fine, but I'm making you some food, and you better eat it," Dean warns, retreating to his kitchen. Castiel takes a seat on Dean's leather sofa, until he sees that his fingers are still covered in grime, and gets up to wash his hands. In the kitchen, he sees Dean breaking up pieces of uncooked pasta, letting to pieces fall into the pot.

"Spaghetti good with you?" Dean asks.

"Yes," Castiel nods, turning on the sink and using the dishwasher soap to clean off his fingers. The water rushes over them, and he feels the heat in his body start to recede. The dust has managed to climb under his nails, and he scrubs it away the best he can.

Rather than go back to the living room when he's done, he takes a seat in a stool next to Dean's island, content to watch the other man move around the kitchen. Dean doesn't seem to notice his presence, and starts humming as he puts the pasta to boil, then begins taking other ingredients out of his refrigerator, presumably to make the sauce for the spaghetti.

When Dean does look up and sees Castiel watching him, he jumps, dropping the tomato in his hand onto the floor. He stoops down to pick it up, putting it on the counter next to him. "Jesus, Cas, you're gonna give me a heart attack one of these days."

"It's fascinating to watch you cook."

"Number one, I haven't done any cooking yet. And number two, you're just saying that because you never cook yourself."

"I've actually started cooking some simple things, with the help of Food Network recipes. I made chicken the other night."

"Yeah? What kind of chicken?" Dean asks, taking a cutting board out to begin dicing onions and carrots. "Was it chicken nuggets? Because sorry, buddy, those don't count."

"No, I made chicken parmesan. I think I may have burnt the breadcrumbs, somehow, though."

"I'm sure you did," Dean grins, looking sideways to catch Castiel's eyes. Castiel tries to look irritated, but can't quite manage to make the face.

For the next half hour, Dean goes about making the sauce and cooking the pasta. The room fills with the smells of garlic and tomato, and Castiel places his chin on his hand to watch Dean. They somehow manage to talk about things that don't deal with work, both still a little shaken up from their foray into the Milton house. It's when they're halfway through their plates of pasta that Dean clears his throat, biting his lip.

"Listen, I know the two of us talk about work more than we should, so I'm just gonna say that we can deal with the story about the fire tomorrow or this weekend, okay? Going to the house didn't help us, and we're still stuck at square one."

"Do you want to just call the story off? I'm sure Naomi won't mind us taking a step back from the story, if we need to," Castiel suggests, but Dean shakes his head.

"No, I-" Dean breaks off, a faraway look in his eyes. "No, I think it's up to us to see this thing through. We owe it to everyone."

Castiel puts down his fork, letting it rest at the corner of his plate. "Dean, we don't owe anyone anything. We can leave this to Jody and her team. They're more than capable of handling it."

The way Dean looks at him can be most accurately described as haunting, and it makes Castiel pause. "No, really, I need to know whatever, whoever started this fire." There's something Dean's not telling Castiel, and if Dean doesn't want to say what he means exactly, then he shouldn't push him.

"Okay." 

"Okay? As in you'll stick with the story?"

"Yes, I have faith that we'll figure it out. I mean, I didn't almost pass out for nothing, right?"

Dean picks his fork back up and starts twirling the spaghetti through the twines. "Yeah, you're right."

Even though Castiel said he would leave soon, he ends up sticking around after dinner is over, staying with Dean to wash the dishes enough to put them into the dishwasher. Dean doesn't say anything about Castiel leaving either, instead suggesting that they watch a TV. They end up watching reruns of the Twilight Zone, something that they can both agree on, even though watching it makes Castiel uneasy for some reason.

When a commercial break comes, Dean looks to Castiel hopefully, straightening up on his side of the couch.

"You don't have to answer, but I'm curious. How the hell did you think of the plot for your book?" Dean asks.

Castiel wonders how long this has been on Dean's mind, if he asked it so suddenly. "If I'm being honest? I don't really know. I just woke up one morning at dawn and starting writing," Castiel mentions, and it's only half of the truth. The only reason he woke up that early was because he couldn't sleep after having a dream about Jimmy, and instead of trying to wrestle with the covers for the next hour or so, he decided to just write. And the next time he looked up from his laptop, there was afternoon light spilling through the crack between his curtains.

"You really just thought of that on the spot?" Dean looks amazed.

"Well, no. The first draft I wrote had many changes made to it. In fact, the first draft was basically a mess of dialogue and rushed scenes, but I worked through it. It took me a couple months to write, and then I decided to send it into a publishing company, after talking to Meg."

"Meg?"

"Oh, she was my friend, and then she became my agent. We try to keep in touch still," Castiel says, which is only half a lie. He and Meg try to talk whenever they can, but it's usually Meg calling him first, rather than the other way around. Castiel knows that Meg would never tell him to do anything he doesn't want to, but he can't help but fear that she will tell him to get started on his next book. But she's his friend before she's his agent, and Castiel knows his fear of her doing so is illogical. 

And yet.

"So you didn't get inspiration from anywhere specific?" Dean asks, and Castiel bites his tongue to stop the words from pouring out. He wants to tell Dean all about how Jimmy died, and it took writing for Castiel to see the figurative light at the end of the tunnel. In fact, he wants to tell Dean about how he abandoned Claire and Amelia when he shouldn't have, even though he told himself only hours ago that it was a bad idea. He doesn't like to keep secrets, never has, but he's keeping a part of his past hidden from Dean because he's a coward and Dean is not. Never could be.

"Actually," Castiel finds himself saying, "I did get some inspiration. From my brother Jimmy. He's who I based Justin off of."

"So then I'm guessing you're Oliver?" When Castiel nods, Dean hisses in sympathy. "Damn, well, you didn't get a happy ending."

Because Oliver doesn't, but Justin does. It's the opposite of what happened in their lives, just as Castiel wanted it to be. Oliver and Justin go back to their summer cabin, the one they used to spend their childhood in alongside their uncle. After being apart for years, they try to reconnect with each other, and decide that spending two or three weeks in the cabin should be enough time, so Justin says goodbye to his wife and daughter, and goes with Oliver. When they get to the cabin, they find it to be inhabited by a brother, Lucas, and a sister, Iris. Apparently, Oliver and Justin's uncle sold the cabin after his death, and the two siblings bought it. After talking for a while, they decide that the four of them can stay together, since the cabin has two bedroom, that they split between the two pairs of siblings. In the end, everyone ends up connecting with each other, forming friendships while they fish, cook dinner, and go swimming. Oliver and Lucas end up becoming involved in their last week at the cabin, until Justin and Oliver have to leave. 

After going back to his house, Oliver tries to call Lucas, but Lucas never picks up. Oliver blames it on the bad reception in the woods, and shrugs it off, until a month passes, and Lucas still doesn't answer. Two more months pass, and Oliver gets a strange feeling that something's happened, so he convinces Justin to go back to the cabin with him, to see if Iris and Lucas are still there, somehow, even though it's already turned to autumn. They find the cabin abandoned, with no clues as to where they went. Until Oliver looks up the siblings on the internet and finds that Iris and Lucas died twenty years ago, in that very cabin. They were never really there at all, no matter how real it felt. And then, Justin forgets all about them, remembering their time spent at the cabin in the summer, but only his time spent with Oliver. The book ends with the question of if Oliver really saw the siblings there, or if they never existed at all.

So no, not a happy ending for Oliver.

"I would say so."

"Would you ever consider writing another book? Or is just something that needs to not have an ending?" Dean pushes, relaxing his arm over the back of the couch.

"No, I think I'm done with it. I've moved past that time in my life," Castiel says, just as the commercial break ends. But for the next half hour, Castiel fights not to say what he wants to about his past, and he's doing well with resisting the urge. Right up until Dean catches his eye with a smile gracing his mouth as the credits of the episode roll, and Castiel feels his breath come out in a whoosh.

"I broke my promise," Castiel lets out.

"What promise?" Dean says, muting the TV.

"I told Jimmy and Amelia that I would take care of Claire, but then I never did. Well, I'm here now, but I promised weeks, and I was gone for more than a year."

"Wait, start over from the beginning. You made a promise to them to take care of Claire? When?"

"Right before I left for the book tour. I thought I was doing the right thing," Castiel says, his voice coming out shaky. Dean looks at him in concern, but doesn't say anything. "After they both died, I promised that I would take care of Claire. There was no one else that would, so it was up to me, and I didn't. I let them down because that's just who I am."

"Hey," Dean says, moving closer on the sofa to Castiel. "Don't say that."

"But it's true. Me and Jimmy only had each other. Our parents died when I was three, and we ended up moving in with my aunt and uncle, and they were religious, to say the least. We lived with them and our four cousins, and we went to church like most families did in Pontiac. But from a young age, I was told that I was to follow into our family's business, even though I didn't want that. So at eleven, Jimmy left for college, and I was alone for the first time, truly alone. I started spending more time with my cousin Gabriel, who also wanted no part in the family's business, so he ended up leaving the family rather than go to college. I tried to do the same at seventeen, but my aunt Hester told me that if I did, then I wouldn't be part of their lives ever again. I left anyways.

"But in doing so, I also broke my ties with Jimmy, since Jimmy sold ads for the business. It wasn't until I was twenty-three that I went back to find Jimmy, and I finally got to spend time with Claire. She was only eleven at the time, but the two of us got along well enough that Jimmy invited me to live with them, but I declined. It was only a year or so later that Jimmy died in a car accident, and the three of us were left to grieve. After he died, I'm ashamed to say that I didn't spend enough time with Claire and Amelia, that I shut myself out from them." There's a hitch in his breath, and his throat begins to close up. "So when Amelia died, I didn't know what to do. Claire and I weren't on good terms with the other, and my book had just taken off, so I ran away. Told myself I would be back soon to make things right again, since that's what Jimmy and Amelia would have wanted, but then I never did, not until now anyway."

"So that's why you came here," Dean says, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes. And Claire wants nothing to do with me, which is understandable."

"But it still hurts all the same," Dean nods. "You shouldn't beat yourself up for what happened. Your brother was dead and you were coping with it the only way you knew. If Sam died just like that-" Dean clenches his jaw and closes his eyes. "God forbid, if that ever happens, then I would do a lot worse than lock myself away," Dean says with a bitter chuckle. 

"But don't you see? I let them down."

"No, you didn't let them down. You can't blame yourself for grieving the way you did, even though it all feels like your fault."

"Yes, but maybe if I talked to them more, then Amelia wouldn't have felt the need to move to Cedar Woods, and maybe she wouldn't have passed away."

"Cas, you can't let yourself think about all the what if's, or you'll drive yourself insane. I spent a long time thinking the same kind of things after my dad died, until I decided that it was his own fault that he drunk himself to death. He was messed up ever since my mom died, and me, Sam, and Bobby spent years trying to help him, but he didn't want any of it," Dean shrugs. "But you, you came here when you didn't need to, and that's more than enough. I'm sure things with Claire will get better."

"How can you be so sure of that?" 

"Hey, weren't you the one who told me to have faith in us finding out what caused the fire? So have little faith in me."

Castiel feels a smile pull at his lips, despite of what he just confessed.

"So you're sure you don't hate me? Even though I was selfish?" 

"No, I know what it feels like to be selfish," Dean says, looking off to the side. "And besides, I don't think I could hate you even if I tried," Dean jokes, but when he meets Castiel's eyes, all he sees in them is honesty and something else that Castiel can't puzzle out.

"Actually, I think you did hate me when we met."

"Okay, that's because I knew nothing about you, so I decided to be a dick. I meant that after actually talking to you and getting to know you, well, I think you're kinda awesome." 

"Thank you," Castiel says, rolling his eyes, just so he can hide the way his throat is starting to close up at how easily Dean seems to accept him. It's something that has him leaning closer to Dean on the sofa, trailing his fingers a breath away from where Dean's knee rests on the cushion. Dean licks his lips slowly, and everything seems to still. Castiel lets his eyes dart from Dean's eyes to his lips, and something electric passes through the air, something that makes him inch just a little closer until his fingers are brushing Dean's knee. And then they're both leaning in, a small amount of space separating them that may as well be infinite, because Castiel isn't touching Dean in the way he wants to. The way that has his fingers itching to touch Dean's skin, to see how far his freckles go. 

But just because the universe has a cruel way of keeping Castiel from having what he wants, Dean's phone starts to ring, startling both of them back.

Dean glances to where it is on the table, and looks apologetic. "It's Sam. Is it okay if I take it?" He asks, picking up the phone.

"Of course," Castiel says, leaning back into the sofa. Dean pushes the answer button, leaving the room to talk. As soon as he's gone, Castiel thinks about what almost just happened, now that the moment has passed. He almost kissed Dean, and in all honesty, he still wants to. He doesn't know how long he's felt this way, hasn't felt any different in the past month of talking to Dean, but it was inevitable, wasn't it? Because Dean Winchester makes him feel a little less like duct tape and glue. He makes Castiel feel whole.

Somehow, Dean manages to convince Castiel to stay over, putting him into the guest room he has, with a smile on his face. He doesn't seem to be feeling as bemused as Castiel does.

"I'll take you to work in the morning, if you're cool with that. We don't have to get in until ten anyways," Dean says, just as he hands Castiel a t-shirt for him to sleep in. 

"Alright. I have to warn you though, I'm not the nicest person the first thing in the morning."

"Yeah," Dean snorts, "I know."

When the door shuts, Castiel strips down to his boxers and changes into the t-shirt. It's soft and it smells just like Dean, and somehow, Castiel's able to fall asleep quicker than he has in weeks. 


	7. Six

 While meeting up with Sam and Jessica for dinner on a Saturday in September, Castiel notices three things.

One, that Dean has managed to be thirty minutes late, probably so that he skips the salad course. Two, that eating dinner with a couple isn't as awkward as he pictured it would be when he saw that Dean wasn't here yet. And three, that Sam and Jess haven't been able to keep their hands off of each other all night. 

Jess practically glows as Sam curls his arm around her, laughing at something Jess said. The grin on his face brings out his dimples, and just as Castiel is trying things out, he feels a hand clamp down on his shoulder.

"Hey, sorry I'm late. It took me longer than I expected to finish up that last car," Dean greets, sitting down in the chair next to Castiel. He takes one look at Sam and Jess, then leans in closer to Castiel's ear. "Have they been acting this gross all night?" Dean whispers. Castiel nods quickly, and Dean laughs at him. 

"Dean, I think we all know that the reason you're here late is because you didn't want to eat the salad," Sam says, gesturing to where Dean's spot is devoid of the salad plates the three of them have.

"Yeah, well, I didn't want to let the salad go to waste on me, you know? I'm more of a meat and potatoes guy." Dean scoots his chair closer to the table. 

Sam says something into Jessica's ear that has her letting out a giggle, and while they're doing that, Dean turns to Castiel.

"Have you figured out why they're acting like this?" Dean side whispers.

"No, I was just in the middle of it when you came," Castiel says to him, and Dean gives him a wide-eyed look.

"You don't think she's pregnant, do you?" He says, but Sam and Jess must hear him, since Sam laughs.

"I think we should just tell them, shouldn't we?" Sam asks to Jess, who nods at him.

"I'm gonna be an uncle?" Dean breathes, but Sam rolls his eyes.

"No, Dean, you're going to be a brother-in-law," Sam announces, holding up Jessica's left hand, where there's a ring on her finger that Castiel failed to notice.

Dean opens and closes his mouth twice, before getting up, going around the table, and hugging both Sam and Jess at once.

"Thank god, I was wondering when you were finally gonna pop the question, Sam," Dean says, his voice overflowing with joy.

"Yeah, well, I asked her yesterday when I drove up here." Since school started, Sam's back to living at Stanford, and he's managed to come home every weekend so far, but Castiel doubts that will last long. Stanford is six hours away.

"Congratulations," Castiel says, "I'm very happy for the two of you."

Jessica gives Castiel a brilliant smile, brushing back a strand of blonde hair. "Thanks, Cas."

It isn't until Castiel is home in his bed that he starts thinking about how quickly time has passed. For Sam and Jess, they've been together for five years and are finally engaged. For Castiel, the past five years have been a blur of moving from place to place and trying to make a name for himself, which he actually did. But making a home for himself? Castiel thinks he's managed to do that, in a way, but he wonders if it will be fully complete.

He turns over in his bed to face the window, where the moonlight continues to breathe life into the dark room. Time has been passing by so quickly, that Castiel doesn't know where it went. He's already lived in this house for over two months, has already tried to redefine his life. He's always felt like a wanderer in his own bones, but things are finally starting to add up for him, and the only reason he's here is because Jimmy and Amelia are gone. Did it take their deaths to finally bring him happiness?

Because that's what Castiel is: happy. And that's because of this town, the people in it, the community as a whole. And the reason he got it is because his brother is dead.

The morbid thoughts stick in his head even while he's taking a shower. He hopes the hot water and steam will be enough to get rid of them, but they're not. It only gets worse when he checks to see the date.

It's his birthday, September eighteenth. It's also the day that Jimmy died.

He stopped celebrating his birthday five years ago, ever since he got the call that Jimmy was in the hospital. And for the last five years, it's been the same. Meg tries to bring him cake, which he does eat, but he never actually celebrates the day. How can he, when it's the anniversary of Jimmy's death?

He sinks down onto the kitchen floor, right next to where his sink is, his phone in his hand. Checking it again, he also sees that it is only noon, too early to drink himself into oblivion like he usually does. Good thing it's a Sunday, or else he doesn't know how he would have called out for work.

He spends what feels like forever there on the kitchen floor. The tiles are cooler than they look, now that the temperature is finally beginning to drop. Castiel presses his phone to his chest, closing his eyes as he focuses on his breathing. He's alone this year, with Meg and Gabriel nowhere near him. And he hasn't told anyone else about the date, not that it's his birthday or that it's when Jimmy died. No one's going to be coming to check on him today. Which is why he thinks it's okay to slump there on the kitchen floor, falling back to rest his head against the cabinets. Behind his eyelids, he sees Jimmy's prone body in the hospital bed, hears the sound of Amelia sniffling as she looks down on Jimmy. He sees Claire with a conflicted look in her eyes, as if not sure whether she wants to cry or scream. Maybe both.

Claire. She's somewhere in town right now, and he wonders if she's in the same state as him. Probably not. She has Jody and Alex there with her right now, and all Castiel has is a large and empty house.

He doesn't leave the floor until he hears his doorbell ring, getting up onto shaky legs. He takes one step and lurches forward, before catching himself against the counter. He's not sure he's up to answering the door. 

Castiel gets up anyways, because it's not like he ever gets many visitors, and it could be important.

Pulling open the door, he sees Claire staring at him, a backpack around her shoulder. She looks just as bad as him.

"Hey."

"Hello, Claire," he says, wondering if he's hallucinating. Maybe this will be like one of his dreams, where the person at the door starts to burn, but he usually sees Dean doing that. Not Claire.

"Can I come in?" She asks, and he steps back without thinking. "Before you ask, I got Jody to give me your address. She knows I came here."

"Did you bring your own car?"

"Yeah, I got a junker a few months ago, but I paid for most of it myself. Wouldn't want Jody wasting her money on me, you know?" She tells him, coming into her living room and taking a seat.

The money must have been from what Jimmy or Amelia left her. Well, either that or Social Security. "Is there a reason you came here?"

"Oh, cut the crap, Castiel. You and I both know what today is," Claire huffs out, pulling a pillow into her lap. "I don't know what you do every year, but I don't like to sit and sulk at home, alright? I mean, I had mom the first few years, but last year? I went out with my friends, but since you're here, I just figured I would-" She cuts off, looking down at the pillow. "You know what? It's stupid. I should just leave."

"If you came all this way, then it can't be stupid."

"Alright, fine, but do you promise not to laugh?" Claire asks him, and Castiel nods. "Alright, good. But don't think that me coming here means I forgive you or anything like that. Because I still don't," Claire warns him, but the words don't come out as harsh as they could have. "I just thought you would be the only other person on the planet that would understand."

"Understand what?" Castiel asks, curious now. 

Claire pulls two journals out of her backpack, one with a battered green cover, and another that's plain black. "So, you wrote your book because you were trying to deal with dad being gone, but mom dealt with it by writing things down in a journal. Two journals actually," Claire says, handing the green one to Castiel. "No one else has ever seen these, but I kept them even when I moved in with Jody. I figured you might want to read them."

"Claire, thank you for giving me these, but I can't read them. They weren't meant for my eyes. Yours maybe, because you're her daughter, but I doubt she wanted me to read them."

"Read a page, alright? It could help you today or something."

Castiel still doesn't open it up, until Claire reaches across the sofa and pulls it open for him. She raises her eyebrows until Castiel reluctantly lowers his eyes to the page and begins to read. It's dated back to around six months after Jimmy died, and Amelia is talking about what she did that day. She missed Jimmy a lot. He doesn't turn the page when he finishes it.

"I appreciate what you're trying to do for me, but I don't feel comfortable reading this," Castiel admits, pushing the book away.

Claire looks back and forth between him and the book, before taking it back into her hands. "I sorta get it. I wouldn't want to read a dead woman's diary if it wasn't my mom's so," Claire says, her voice catching at the end, until she clenches her jaw. "She just wrote about what she was doing, who she talked to. I didn't even know she kept them until we moved into Cedar Woods, and by that point, she was already on the black journal."

"Do you think it helped her?"

"I know it did," Claire sighs. "I just wish things could've turned out differently, you know?"

Castiel gives a bitter chuckle. "I know what you mean. I'm sorry you lost your family."

"Hey, you lost yours too. At least I knew my parents for a while. You didn't even get to know yours," Claire reminds him. "And I know me and you don't get along, and I still think you're a dick, but I didn't think anyone deserves to be alone on days like today. So I thought these journals would help or something. Like I said, it's stupid."

"It was thoughtful, not stupid." Castiel catches Claire chewing on the inside of her cheek, as if she's trying not to cry, and Castiel understands where she's coming from. He wants to hug her, but doubts she would appreciate that. He watches as her eyes flicker to the fireplace, where there's a picture of he, Jimmy, Amelia, and her, and she looks away from it quickly.

"Hey, so you got any food in this place? I'm starving."

Fifteen minutes later, they're both eating turkey and cheese sandwiches at the counter, since Castiel hasn't had time to do grocery shopping as of late. After work, he usually either ends up with Dean, Charlie, or both of them. 

"You're a great cook," Claire remarks sarcastically, and he snorts.

He's about to say something about his improving skills in the kitchen to her, but something else comes to the forefront of his mind. "I've been meaning to ask you something, but well, I didn't want to bother you."

"Yeah, shoot."

"Why did you want to know about the fire? When you called me the other day?"

"I dunno, just curious I guess. Not much stuff happens in this town, and when it does, you want to know more about it. At least it's a cooler place than Pontiac."

"You didn't like Pontiac?"

Claire takes a bite from her sandwich and chews while she thinks. "Okay, I liked Pontiac just because it's where I grew up, but as a town? It sucked. I mean, everyone there was a religious nut, my aunt and uncles included."

"You didn't like any of them?" Castiel assumes she's referring to Michael, Gabriel, Lucifer, and Rachel.

"Well, uncle Gabe is cool, but the rest of them act like they have a stick up their ass. I think they're even worse than you, and that's saying something," Claire says, and Castiel squints at her.

"Thank you?"

"I gotta say, though, you're less moody than you were back then."

"I think that has something to do with me growing up. Time change people," he shrugs.

"Yeah, I guess it does," Claire agrees.

After she leaves twenty minutes later, Castiel feels better than he did earlier. He and Claire managed to keep the topic away from Jimmy's death, even though that's the reason she was here in the first place, and he feels like that was a good thing. 

Avoiding things only works so long, however, so when he's left alone on his couch, he turns on the TV, but he doesn't register what he's really watching. In the span of two hours, his phone manages to ring four separate times, but it's still in the kitchen, and he doesn't have the energy to get up or do anything really.

When he does get up, he goes straight for his refrigerator and pulls out two bottles of beer. He doesn't have anything stronger than that in the house, since he hasn't been much of a drinker in the last two years. Fuck that.

He downs the first bottle in two minutes, before taking pulls of the other one slowly, looking around his house. When he finishes that one, he takes two more out of the fridge and moves to the second living room he never really sits in. He also picks up his phone and notices that it's only four, and he shouldn't be drinking this early or at all. But the alcohol is letting his mind blank out, and maybe if he drinks enough, he won't have to see Jimmy's dead body.

Nursing his third bottle, he clicks through his phone, noticing that he has two missed calls from Dean, one from Charlie, and another from Gabriel. He also has a voicemail from Dean, but he doesn't want to listen to it. He throws his phone onto the floor and lies back on the sofa cushion. This one isn't as comfortable as the one in the other living room, but he leans into it anyway. It's soft enough.

He thinks he falls asleep, because when he wakes up again, the room is significantly darker than it was earlier, but it's still bright enough to see when he looks around. The bottle he was drinking is finished, even though he doesn't remember drinking it. The fourth bottle is still lying there. 

Castiel's reaching for it before he can stop himself, popping the cap like Dean taught him to, using his ring.

He wonders what Dean is doing right now. Probably something fun that doesn't involve Castiel, because he doesn't like Castiel the way he likes Dean. Dean's wonderful and nice and smart, and he's just Castiel. Someone who managed to fuck up so badly, that most of his family doesn't want to talk to him. He's nothing but the disappointment that Zachariah always thought he was.

So, he drinks and tries to make himself forget.

His phone rings again, the noise making his blood pound, so he swipes at his phone to stop the ringing, realizing too late that he answered the call by accident.

"Cas? You there?" He hears, and lets out a groan. "Cas, what the hell? I've been trying to call you for the past few hours, and you haven't answered any of my calls. What the fuck have you been up to?"

"Dean, why are you calling me?" He says in lieu of answering Dean's question.

"Because it's your birthday, jackass, and me and Charlie were gonna take you out to eat somewhere, but it's almost eight now, and-"

"I fell asleep."

"For five or six hours? In the middle of the day?" Dean asks, sounding confused rather than angry.

"Well, I was just ignoring you for the first three hours, but then I really did fall asleep." He pauses, staring at his wall where there are no pictures hanging. "Do you think beer stains white walls?"

"Uh, I'm no expert, but maybe? Why are you asking me this?"

"Should I find out, or would that be a bad idea?"

"Why are you throwing beer at the wall? Are you okay?" And now Dean's starting to sound concerned, which Castiel finds funny for some reason, so he starts laughing. And then he can't stop laughing, staring at the wall with his half drunk bottle in his hand. The light reflecting in from the window combines with his shades to make it look like there are shapes dancing across the wall.

"I'm fine, Dean," he manages to say after his laughter his calmed down. It was more like hysteria, but he doesn't think Dean noticed.

"Are you drunk?"

Oh, maybe Dean did notice. "Aren't we all drunk if we think about it?" 

A beat passes, and then, "I'm coming over. Please don't throw any bottles at the wall."

"I won't make any promises," Castiel says ending the call. The last time he checked, all he does is break promises.

He doesn't know how long it takes Dean to get there, but the room gets darker and darker until his hand is hidden in shadows. Rather than the beer making himself feel lighter, he thinks it made himself feel worse. It didn't make him forget anything.

His doorbell rings, and Castiel leaves the room to answer it, only stumbling into the wall once. Well, maybe he is a little drunk.

Pulling it open, he sees Dean with a phone held halfway up to his ears, which he places into his pocket when he takes one look at Castiel.

"Jesus, what happened to you?" Dean asks, and rather than answer, Castiel lurches forward like he did before, but he doesn't have a counter to stop him this time, and ends up colliding with Dean. It almost reminds him of the dream he always has, but then Dean's pulling him in, coming into his house. 

Castiel shuts his eyes, but then feels like the world is spinning as Dean maneuvers him around the house. When he feels a hand on his cheek, he pops his eyes back open and moves away from the touch, and Dean almost looks hurt. Castiel immediately feels guilty for doing it.

"So, you're kind of drunk. You wanna tell me why?"

"It's September eighteenth," he hiccups, and realizes that he's sitting on a sofa.

"Yeah, it's your birthday," Dean says, clearly not following.

"No, Jimmy died today."

"Oh, crap. Why didn't you say anything about it?"

He shrugs. "I didn't think you'd care."

"Didn't think I would care?" Dean looks at him incredulously. "Of course I care!" This time, it's Castiel who reaches out to Dean, wanting to do whatever he can so that he never has to see that look on Dean's face again. He settles a hand on his shoulder, trying to squeeze back. 

"I'm tired." He doesn't know if he means in general, or just at the moment. Both, probably.

"Yeah, well, you need to eat something before you go back to sleep. You need something in your stomach besides alcohol," Dean mutters, getting up and taking his warmth with him. Castiel almost whines. "You didn't end up throwing the beer bottle at the wall, did you?"

"No, I don't think so," Castiel says, shutting his eyes. He feels incredibly tired.

He doesn't know how Dean manages to get food into him and back upstairs, but he must, because Castiel feels his pillow underneath him.

"Look, I'm leaving aspirin and water on your nightstand. Drink it when you wake up, and then call me as soon as you do," Dean tells him, sitting on the edge of Castiel's bed. 

Castiel thinks he does it without thinking, but his fingers wrap around Dean's wrist, not wanting to let go. "Stay," he mumbles.

"Cas, I shouldn't-"

"Please," he says, his voice soft. 

"I'll stay in the other room, alright?" Dean decides, chewing on his lip.

"Okay," he murmurs, then loses consciousness.

• • •

He wakes up screaming.

Or, at least, he thinks he's screaming, if the rawness in his throat is anything to go by. He can also feel a hand holding his face, and for a moment, he thinks he hasn't left the dream at all.

"Cas? Cas, say something," a voice says, and Castiel opens his eyes to see Dean. Maybe he still is stuck in the dream.

But the Dean in the dream would not be looking at him like this. There's a small furrow between his eyebrows, and he looks almost white as a ghost. Of course, that could also be because the light in the room is sparse at the moment. And he thinks he hears rain. A thumb caresses his cheek, and Castiel leans into the motion. It grounds him.

"You're real," Castiel chokes out.

"Yeah, and you were just screaming," Dean says, but there's relief flooding his face. Castiel wants to kiss him.

"I couldn't save you."

Dean moves closer to him on the bed, where he's sitting next to Castiel's stomach, almost leaning over him. "Couldn't save me when?"

"In my dream. You were in my house, and you were on fire, and I couldn't stop it," he whispers, still seeing the image even as he stares at Dean.

"Well, good thing I'm not actually on fire right now, right?"

But Castiel can't help how his voice starts to shake. "I don't why I keep having that dream. It gets worse and worse each time. First it's just Jimmy burning, and then you come in, and I'm never able to move. And then the house keeps getting smaller and smaller, and your hand is on my cheek, but I'm stuck-" Castiel cuts off when there's a hitch in his breath, and Dean hands begin to pull away from his face.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have touched your face when-"

"No, it's okay," Castiel says, wrapping a hand around Dean's and pulling it back to his cheek. 

Dean lets out a breath. "Okay, do you need me to do anything? Do you want water or something?"

"No, just keep talking to me. I usually can't fall back asleep for a while."

"What do you want me to talk about? I got tons of stories," Dean says, then licks his lips. "Or I could tell you about my mom."

"It's okay, Dean. You don't have to if you don't want to."

"No, I've been meaning to tell you about her for a long time, because the truth is, I've been keeping a couple things from you." Dean looks away from him, and toward the open window. "It's nothing bad, but it's nothing too good either. You see, I told you my mom was a journalist, right?" Castiel nods. "Yeah, well, she was working at the town newspaper, and she was set to become editor-in-chief soon, but then she left town one day and well, my dad told me something was different about her after she came back. She started getting sick, Cas, but nothing that was really noticeable or anything, not unless you really looked at her. And then she died in a house fire a few months down the line. I was there that day, sitting in the room over when she started screaming about a fire in the kitchen. My dad came down the stairs with Sam in his arms and told me to take Sam and go, since the fire was just getting bigger and bigger, and he said he would come back out with mom, but he said she was caught in the flames. She never made it out.

"My dad got real messed up after she died. See, she'd grown up in Cedar Woods, with my grandma and grandpa, and then she moved to Lawrence to go to college, and that's where she met my dad. They moved back here a year after I was born, since mom wanted to live closer to her parents, but with mom gone, dad didn't have a reason to stay here anymore. So he packed up his stuff and left with me and Sam. He was obsessed with trying to find out who started the fire, since he thought it couldn't have been her that set it. We picked up and moved to six different towns in eight years, and didn't come back to Cedar Woods until I was twelve. Then we stayed, and well, I wanted to be like my mom. And the last thing she was researching about before she died was Inias dying at the Milton house. She never found out what he died of, and here we are today, not knowing what caused the fire at Piper Lane. I don't know if I'm more like my mom and I don't like leaving stories abandoned, or if I'm like my dad and I have some obsession with fires, but that's why I want to see this story through. I'm selfish. It's not just that I want to help people in town, it's that I also want to help myself, so that I know that I did everything I could. Isn't that fucked up?"

"Dean, there's nothing wrong with your reasons," he says. "And even if there was, I wouldn't care."

"You wouldn't?" 

"No, I wouldn't." Dean looks at him with a look of wonder that has Castiel tugging him down and Dean falls into him willingly, catching himself by putting his hands on either side of Castiel's head. He's half draped over Castiel's body, and they're so close that Dean's breath is fanning over his face. Castiel's blood rushes in his ears, and his heart beats so loudly, he's sure Dean can hear the sound of it. He licks his lips and watches Dean's eyes follow the movement. 

A flash of lightning passes through the room, followed closely by the rumble of thunder. Dean takes a breath and pushes himself up and away from Castiel, breaking the moment.

"You always sleep with your window open?

Castiel swallows his disappointment and tries to steady his breathing. "Yes. I don't like to sleep in the dark," Castiel eventually says.

"That's understandable." Dean stands on his feet, but he doesn't start moving to the guest room, instead glancing to the space beside Castiel on the bed. He wonders who's going to say it first. "So, are you good to sleep now, or should I stay a little longer?"

Castiel doesn't know if the dream will return, but he doesn't want it to. His throat still aches. "I think I'll be fine. But just in case I do experience the same dream, maybe it would be best if you were to, um," Castiel trails off, toying with the edge of the sheets. He looks pointedly to the space beside him and hopes that Dean won't make him spell it out. He doesn't know if he has the courage to.

"If you're okay with me sleeping there, then I don't mind?"

"No, no, it's no trouble. But of course, you're not obligated to-"

"No, I want to," Dean says. "Just to make sure you sleep okay," Dean adds in a rush.

"Right," Castiel says, feeling a smile color his voice. Dean goes onto the other side of the bed effortlessly, tucking his head onto the second pillow. He pulls the sheets up to his waist, and Castiel notices that he's only wearing a t-shirt and boxers. He turns his head to face Castiel.

"Night, Cas," Dean whispers.

"Goodnight, Dean." 

Castiel lets his eyes fall shut, face turned to where Dean lays beside him.

• • •

Dean forces him to drink a whole glass of orange juice after Castiel drinks coffee and throws it up two minutes later.

"You know, I would be laughing at you right now, but you kind of look miserable," Dean says, driving both of them to work. He's wearing the same pants he wore yesterday, but he borrowed one of Castiel's shirts for the day. It's a little tight on him, but Castiel can't help but appreciate the way Dean looks in his clothes. And if looking at him makes a flicker of heat run through Castiel's body, then well, no one has to know.

Castiel also feels like his skull is going to pound right out of his head. "You're not helpful," he bites out, leaning his head back against the seat.

"I don't get it. I mean, you were fine when you woke up in the middle of the night, but then you got up in the morning and looked like you wanted to die."

"Maybe the alcohol took a while to catch up to me," Castiel groans. It's too bright outside. Usually, drinking four bottle of beer isn't anything to be worried about, not with the way he's developed an alcohol tolerance, but maybe drinking four beers with barely any food to eat was enough to make him feel like his insides got scrambled up.

Just like any other Monday morning, Dean and Castiel take two seats toward the back of the conference room. However, neither of their names are called, and even Charlie gives them a strange look as she exits the room and they stick back to talk to Naomi.

"I've been very lenient with you two about doing the story on the fire, but it's been weeks since I assigned it a second time, and you haven't brought me anything," Naomi opens with.

"We tried to look into different things, but we weren't able to find anything new," Castiel admits, leaning back against the corner of the table.

"That's what I suspected. Which is why I'm giving the two of you permission to look into the city records. The ones down in the archives."

Dean straightens up from where he was also slumping against the table. "Wait, what? Can you really do that?"

"Yes, I can," Naomi says, almost smug.

"What's the point of looking at the records, though? All that's in there is the old data that they haven't had a chance to put into the computer."

"Yes, it has information from before things became digital in 1994, and I feel that may be useful to you in your story."

Castiel tilts his head at her. "How will that be useful? If there are only old records, how can that help us catch the culprit?"

"I have a feeling that you two are looking at this at the wrong angle. Maybe you need to go into the past."

"So what, you're saying that our guy could be someone that started a fire before?" Dean asks.

"It's your responsibilities to find out. I wish you luck," Naomi tells them, leaving so that he and Dean are the only people left in the room. It reminds him of the last time they were like this, when they'd just begun to navigate their friendship.

"Well, maybe snooping at old stuff will help us out," Dean says with enthusiasm. Castiel looks at him with narrowed eyes. He wants to go back to bed, and he has a feeling things aren't going to work out.

His instincts end up being correct the next day, when they're standing in city hall, trying to talk to a security guard named Aaron, who is saying no to letting them into the archives.

"Sorry, Dean, no can do, even if Naomi gave her say so. The only people allowed to look at them are the sheriff's department, and the guys that work in this building. Press isn't part of it," Aaron tells them.

"C'mon, man, it would really help us out," Dean pleads with him. "I promise we won't look at anything we're not supposed to. We could even have someone in there with us."

"A story isn't a good enough reason to look at people's private records. You'd need a warrant," Aaron says. Castiel opens his mouth to say thank you and walk away, so that he and Dean can figure out what to do next, but then Dean leans closer to Aaron, until he's in the other man's personal space.

"Aaron, please. For old time's sake?" Dean says, dropping his voice two octaves in a way that sends blood rushing through Castiel. And then he realizes that Dean's words imply that he had a past relationship with Aaron. 

Eyes sweeping up and down Dean's body, Aaron looks like he's still about to say no, but Dean leans closer into him and whispers something into the man's ear that has Aaron swallowing and blush appearing on his cheeks. Something inside of Castiel starts to burn, making him want to put himself in front of Dean's body and push him away from Aaron. It must be jealousy.

The only other time Castiel experienced this feeling was when he saw Jimmy, Amelia, and Claire together sometimes, but that was jealousy of how Jimmy had managed to carve out the perfect life for himself. He hadn't been jealous of Jimmy in particular, just jealous of what he had while Castiel had nothing. A family, where Castiel had none.

But this feeling in him right now is different. He sees Aaron lick his lips and turn to say something to Dean, while Castiel presses his fingers into the meat of his palm to stop himself from doing something stupid. He can't tell what Dean's saying, but if the deep blush on Aaron's cheeks is anything to go by, it must be filthy.

Castiel digs his nails in harder.

Just as he's about to step between the two men and force them apart, Aaron gives the slightest shake of his head, and Dean moves back from him with a sigh.

"Dean, really, I can't do it. Maybe if you got permission from Mayor Hanscum herself?" Aaron suggests, just as the woman herself walks down the hallway.

"Dean! I haven't seen you around these parts in forever," she greets, giving Dean a tight hug. "And Castiel! We haven't met, but I've heard great things about you too," she says, a large smile on her face. Castiel likes her immediately.

"Nice to meet you," he says.

"Now, what's this thing about permission?" She asks, looking between the two of them.

"Well, me and Cas wanted to look into the archives for a story we're writing, since Naomi said we could, but Aaron here is telling us we can't?" Dean phrases his statement as a question.

Mayor Hanscum nods gravely. "Oh, Aaron's telling the truth. I'm afraid I can't let you boys down there without a warrant, since you guys aren't with Jody. Which reminds me, I haven't seen her in weeks. Maybe I ought to pay the woman a visit," she says to herself.

"You really can't pull some strings for us, Donna?" Dean begs.

She shakes her head, her ponytail flying from side to side. "I really can't. I'm awfully sorry." She frowns, but then shrugs her shoulders. "Maybe you can try to figure something else out? I bet there's another way to get what you want."

"Yeah, we can try," Dean says. "Nice seeing you, though."

When Mayor Hanscum leaves, it feels like she took a bit of sunshine along with her. As the two of them exit city hall, Dean looks like he's deep in thought.

"Dean? What are you thinking about?" He asks when Dean's paused outside of the passenger door. Castiel convinced him to take his car for once.

Dean brightens up with a smile, and Castiel sees a light bulb flicker on above his head. "I know how we're going to get into that place tonight, Cas. I got a plan."

• • •

"Rather than doing this, wouldn't it be smarter to get Charlie to just hack into the records for us?" Castiel suggests as he leans back in his seat. The Impala is parked in the street next to city hall. 

"Nah, you heard Naomi. Everything before 1994 is down in the archives. But I guess if we need current records, we can get her to do that for us," Dean says.

"He's right, Cas. I can," Charlie says, through Dean's phone. She's on speaker. "So, let me go through this one last time. The only people in city hall right now should be the two night guards, and one will be patrolling on the first floor or second floor, and the other's going to be in the basement. I'm going to disable to alarm for the thirty seconds it takes you to get into the building, and then again when you guys go into the stairwell. Then, I'm going to make one of the upstairs cameras go fuzzy, so that the basement guard goes upstairs to help out the other guy in checking that section of the building. By the time he gets back down there, you guys should be in the archives already, and I'll rig the camera in there to make it look like no one's there. Getting out of there is going to be up to you guys, so just try to leave when you think there's no one coming, but I can help you out again with the alarms. You got that?"

"Yeah, Charlie, thanks. Glad to see you're willing to help us out with this." Dean tucks a flashlight into his pocket, before handing another over to Castiel.

"Hey, what kind of friend would I be if I didn't help you guys break into government property?" Charlie laughs. 

"I have one question. Even if we do manage to find something out, we can't just publish it as a source in the paper, or else someone will find out we had access to records we weren't supposed to," Castiel mentions.

"We can say that some third party gave us the information. It'll be fine, Cas," Dean says. "You ready to go?"

And that's how he and Dean break into city hall. They're relying on Charlie to do her job, since Dean turned the phone off as soon as they left the car. Creeping down the stairs, Castiel holds his breath as he hides against a stairwell, with Dean right behind him. Thankfully, he sees the guard take the elevator to get back upstairs, and then Castiel's pushing open the stairwell door to get to the basement floor, where the air smells like ink. Dean's right on his heels as they walk through the hallway, down to where the archive room is. 

A key is necessary to get inside, but Dean luckily manages to break into the room using the same tool he used to get into the Milton house, unlocking the door and rushing Castiel inside. As soon as the door shuts, Castiel lets out a breath and turns on his flashlight.

The room is larger than Castiel expected, with rows of filing cabinets lined along the wall. It's probably steel-enforced too.

"Well, where do you want to start?" Dean whispers, waving his flashlight at the wall. 

"Instead of looking through people's files, why don't we start by looking into the Milton house? Maybe the arsonist had a reason behind starting the fire there," Castiel offers.

"You're right," Dean says, going toward the filing cabinet where last names with M will be found. "Not everyone has a record here, just the ones that were born here, had a somewhat important life, or got in trouble with the law, but I'm sure Milton will be here." Castiel moves closer to him, watching as Dean slips his fingers through the files, finally finding Milton hidden between Mills and Mistry. 

Dean pulls out the file, it being larger than expected, but Castiel realizes that's because Dean pulls out the files of everyone with the last name Milton. He brings the file to a table in the center of the room, opening it to reveal the first name on top. Milton, Raphael.

There are handwritten notes about him, about his work as the mayor and how he met his demise within four years of living in the completed home. The man seems unremarkable, but Castiel knows just how cruel he was, and how he wasted away the town funds.

"What a dick," Dean says, looking through the page.

"Should we look into his relatives?" Castiel says, as they turn to the other names.

"Nah, I don't think they'll give us anything new." But then Dean pauses as he reaches the name Inias Milton, finding a newspaper clipping in his folder. Pulling it out and holding it against the light of the flashlight, Castiel notices how it was written by Mary Winchester. 

He notices Dean's harsh inhale, as he reads through it, his expression getting more pinched in the dark.

"I think this was the last thing she ever wrote," Dean breathes.

"What does it say?"

"She just wrote about how weird it was that a healthy guy like Inias died. She interviewed his wife, but she didn't have much to say about her husband, besides that he was a lousy guy," Dean almost laughs.

Placing that picture back into the folder, Dean puts down the file. 

"That didn't clarify anything," Castiel remarks, and Dean snorts.

"Yeah, you're telling me. Maybe we should look at something else?"

"But what could we look at? Old newspapers?"

Dean spins in his spot, turning to the filing cabinet along the far wall. "Well, if we don't know what month or even year to look at, then we could be here all week."

"Do you think there were others? Other people that died in the same strange circumstances as Inias?"

"What, like fires?"

"Maybe? Do you remember if anyone else died in a fire in the past?" Castiel suggests.

"There was some people my dad used to talk about that died in fires in this town, but they're all from a long time ago. There's no way it could be the same person who started this fire."

"It wouldn't hurt to check."

Dean shrugs. "Yeah, I guess. One of the guy's names was Cain? Died around 1954? Can't remember the month, though."

"Cain is the last name?" At Dean's nod, they both look into the filing cabinet full of yellowing, dusty newspapers. To get to the 1950s. Castiel pushes back paper after paper, until they finally get to January of 1954. Looking through it, they don't find any information about Cain in the obituary section or otherwise. It isn't until they get to March of 1954 that they read about the fire that they find Cain mentioned.

"Timothy Cain. He moved to town in 1953 and died a year later in a fire at home. Poor guy," Dean says, reading over the words about his passing. 

"Is there anything else written about him?"

"No, they didn't give any other details, which puts us back at square one." Dean places the newspaper back into its place and shuts the cabinet. "Now what?"

"Do you remember anyone else who died in a fire?"

"There was this girl Kate Wheeley back in 1967. I only remember the year because it's when my Baby was made."

Wrenching open the bottom drawer, they get to the newspaper from the week Kate died and confirm that she also died in a fire, two years after moving to Cedar Woods with her parents. She was only twenty-two.

"So how does this help us? Sure, we found people that died in fires, but what do those have to do with anything?"

"Maybe we can find a common thread between all of them? They all could have done something that caused their death."

"You think someone's going around, killing these people in fires?" Dean seems to consider the idea, but then shakes his head. "I doubt it, since no one died in the fire in the woods."

"Unless someone was supposed to?" Castiel offers, making Dean pause in where he's putting back the 1967 newspaper.

"You really think so?"

This time it's Castiel who shrugs. Really, he doesn't know what or who caused the fire, but he thinks that there has to be more to the story than he or Dean can see. He can't help but feel like whatever happened wasn't an accident, that someone started it on purpose, maybe even to kill someone. He just doesn't know how to prove that. "It's just a theory."

"Yeah, well, we shouldn't go pointing any fingers without real evidence, or else we'll be no better than the ladies in book club." Dean gets up from kneeling on the floor, pointing his flashlight towards the row where they found the file on Milton.

"Should we look up Cain and Wheeley in the regular files?"

"I don't think the files will tell us more than we already know. And besides, we should be getting out of here soon, before it gets too late," Dean decides, glancing at his phone screen. 

"Right." Castiel glances back to the abandoned Milton file, taking it into his hands and bringing it back to the cabinet they pulled it out from. He feels Dean's presence at his back as he places the file back into its place, wedging it between the other folders.

The drawer shuts with a soft thud, and Castiel turns around to find Dean chewing on his bottom lip.

"You think we're gonna figure it out?" Dean says, his voice coming out in a whisper. 

"The case?" When Dean nods, Castiel continues. "To tell you the truth, I don't know, but we're bound to figure out something."

"I guess." Dean looks toward the door, swallowing. Castiel is transfixed by the shadows that fall across Dean's face, illuminating his features in a way that makes him look more beautiful than Castiel ever thought he could. When Dean's eyes flicker back to him, they're clouded over with something Castiel can't identify. "You know, if I had to be in a basement with someone at midnight, I'm glad I'm with you," Dean says, and Castiel's breath catches in his chest.

He trails his eyes over Dean's face, watching as Dean's gaze moves down toward his lips. Without thinking about it, Castiel darts his tongue out to swipe over his dry lips, Dean's eyes tracking the motion, just like they did a couple nights ago. His fingers fumble with the flashlight in his hand, until Castiel places it into his pocket so the beam of light points up toward the ceiling. It makes the room brighter, just as he moves closer to Dean, hearing how Dean sucks in a deep breath as their noses brush together. If there was more light, Castiel would be able to count his freckles.

As Dean nudges their noses together, his fingers move to brush over Castiel's hips, playing with the edges of his jacket. Squeezing his eyes shut, Dean's fingers pause in their movement, and he starts pulling away. "Cas, we shouldn't-"

"I know," Castiel says and kisses him anyway.

When their lips press together, Castiel feels a buzz of warmth pass through him, his eyes falling shut as Dean's finger clutch tighter to his hips. His heartbeat thrums in his fingers as he reaches up to place his hand at the back of Dean's neck, feeling along his warm skin.

Dean pulls back from him suddenly, and Castiel opens his eyes to see Dean staring at him with wide eyes, looking lost, hungry almost. Letting out a broken noise, Dean seals his mouth back over Castiel's, opening his mouth almost immediately. And then all Castiel feels is heat.

Something in him shifts, and he curls his fingers up into Dean's hair, pulling Dean closer into him. His skin feels like it's on fire, sparks flying up his spine as Dean's fingers move under his shirt and press over Castiel's hipbones. Fluttering wildly, Castiel feels his heartbeat in his ears, just as Dean brings his hips closer to brush over his. Castiel whimpers.

"This okay?" Dean asks, speaking into Castiel's mouth. 

"Yes," Castiel breathes, just as Dean moves his mouth over Castiel's jaw, trailing kisses as he drifts lower. He moves his mouth over Castiel's neck, then pushes the collar of Castiel's shirt down with his lips, sucking at the skin. Castiel feels his knees give out, just as Dean backs him into the filing cabinet, the handles hitting Castiel's back, but he doesn't mind one bit. He feels hot all over as Dean's tongue laps at the mark, the hickey, he just left behind. 

A wrecked sound passes through Castiel's lips, and he pulls Dean up by the hair to kiss him again. He feels more than hears the moan Dean lets out, feels it vibrating into the back of his throat as he swallows it down. It's like being devoured. 

Castiel presses his lips against Dean's with urgency, swiping across the roof of Dean's mouth with his tongue. 

"Fuck," Dean bites out. His hips roll against Castiel's, and if it weren't for the cabinet at his back, Castiel would be on the ground. "You've been driving me crazy for weeks."

He hears a dull thud, his eyes shooting open to see light reflected at the wall behind Dean.

But then Dean's right hand is sneaking under Castiel's shirt, a hot palm pressed against his spine, and Castiel closes his eyes again. "Dean," he says hoarsely. "Dean, _please_."

"Tell me what you need," Dean whispers, just as Castiel bucks his hips upward into Dean's, feeling more sparks shoot up his spine.

"I-"

He cuts off when he hears footsteps, almost inaudible, but he pulls away from Dean's hold anyway. His eyes flash to the door just as Dean's do, and they both seem to come to the same conclusion as they separate from each other and duck behind the filing cabinet. Dean grabs his flashlight from the floor, and Castiel turns off his own, hearing a key turn in the lock. The door opens with a creak a couple seconds later.

Light spills over the room as the guard flickers on a switch. Castiel's breathing hitches as the footsteps echo closer into the room, and he leans into Dean, as if that will stop them from being detected. 

Thankfully, the guard must be too tired to fully inspect the room, and instead moves away from where Castiel and Dean are hidden, going back to the door. 

When the light turns off again, and the door shuts, Castiel deflates into the floor. 

"That was close," Dean says, standing and offering Castiel a hand up. When Castiel slides his palm into Dean's, it's as if the heat never left his body, but he forces himself to pull away from Dean.

"Yes, well, we should get going before it gets too late." Castiel turns away from him, too afraid to meet the other man's eyes. 

He hears a tapping noise. "I'll text Charlie to let her know to disable the alarm again," Dean tells him. Castiel nods into the darkness.

They make it outside successfully, but Castiel can't help the way his fingers shake as he pulls open the passenger door of the Impala. Even climbing into the car, he feels uneasy. What did they just do in there? 

Dean starts the engine, turning onto the empty street as they begin the journey back to Castiel's house. 

They don't mention the kiss. 


	8. Seven

Somehow, Wednesday manages to pass without Dean or Castiel acting any differently towards each other.

Castiel goes into work like he does everyday, and he sits down into his rolling chair. He turns on his laptop like he always, and pulls up a blank Google document, staring at the cursor. It blinks in and out on the page, and Castiel keeps his eyes glued to it, right up until Charlie comes up to him. 

They talk about if the plan was successful, using low voices so that no one else hears, and Dean eventually joins their talk. If Charlie detects any hint of awkwardness between the two of them, she doesn't comment on it and sits back into her chair in order to finish her own story. 

He and Dean try to look through and do research about the names they discovered the night before, and not much of anything turns up, but Castiel begins typing up the article anyway.

Then they go home their separate ways, and Castiel makes a sandwich for dinner before he falls asleep on his bed. An uneventful day.

The following morning, he recalls that Dean will be picking him up in his car, and that they will be forced to have a conversation for that period of time. Castiel wonders if Dean regrets what happened, and maybe that's why he failed to mention it again. In his mind, Castiel felt that even though it maybe wasn't right to kiss, considering the two of them work together, he wouldn't take it back. Not for anything.

So he climbs into the Impala when Dean comes to pick him up, carrying a tumbler of coffee in his right hand. Dean puts in a casette, and Robert Plant's voice fills the car.

"Do you think we have enough stuff to write a full story?" Dean asks him, pressing down on the brake as they reach a stoplight. 

"I don't think so. Everything we have is just fragments, and we still don't know if we're looking at the right people or things."

"Yeah, I was thinking the same thing. So I say we write whatever we can, and let Hannah or Zeke yell at us about it tomorrow if they want. As long as we get something written by the end of the day, we should be good to go," Dean says, making it sound simple. 

Castiel drinks half of his coffee before he even steps foot into the office, feet following a familiar pattern to the back of the room.

"Hey, guys, did you hear the news?" Kevin asks, his face bright.

"What news?" Dean asks, taking his laptop out of his bag, placing it onto his desk.

"I don't know if this is true, but people are saying that the police have a lead about what started the fire that happened the night of the festival," Kevin tells them.

"What?" Dean and Castiel both say at the same time.

"Yeah, my mom said she heard people talking about it last night at the grocery store. I don't know if it's accurate, but hey, it's something at least."

"So the police are sure that it was someone that started the fire, not something?" Castiel presses.

Kevin looks up as if running through information in his mind. "That's what my mom said, but maybe we have to wait for an official announcement to be made." He turns a little in his chair, before looking back at Castiel and Dean. "Wait a second, aren't you guys working on an article about the fire right now? Maybe this'll help you out in writing it."

Or maybe it just puts him and Dean back at where they started: no leads, no usable information. 

When the two of them take their lunch break at Benny's, Dean eats his fries angrily, if that's possible.

"So, me and you sneak into the archives, and what we found isn't even stuff we can use," Dean mutters, dipping a fry into ketchup.

"We still don't know who the police discovered, so our work doesn't have to be useless," Castiel consoles, but he feels uneasy too. He almost has no appetite left as he places his burger into his mouth, even though it tastes incredible. He sets it back onto his plate and drinks his iced water instead, taking long pulls of it. 

"I guess, but what can we possibly gather from what we read? I mean, so there was three unexplained fires that happened and ended up killing three people. Big whoop."

"Four," Castiel corrects. "Four fires."

Dean looks at him in confusion, swallowing the bite of food in his mouth. "You think this has something to do with my mom?"

"Well, she was investigating Inias' death. Maybe whoever killed him found out that she was looking into it, and decided that she needed to be taken care of so that the truth would not be brought out?"

"Yeah, I mean, I guess that could be true, but what could that have to do with Cain and Kate? They died years ago, so there's no way it could have been the same person."

"Do you have any of your father's old journals or books or anything? Maybe he was able to find out more than you and I are able to," Castiel suggests.

Dean puts another french fry into his mouth. "Yeah, I have them somewhere in my house. I could bring them back to work, see if we can get something figured out?"

"Yes, let's do that," Castiel says, still not picking his half-eaten burger up again. For some reason, he regrets eating anything at all, for the way his stomach feels as if it's revolting against him. He drinks more of his water and tries to ignore it, hoping that the mood will pass. 

"You okay there, Cas? You're looking a little pale," Dean says, a pout to his lips.

"I think I'm just tired."

"Yeah, I hear you. This story is taking over our lives. I haven't been able to watch TV since Monday night," Dean sighs. 

"Yes, I'm sure that must be quite difficult for you," Castiel remarks, just as Ruby comes over to their table. Alex only works here in the evening, now that school's begun.

"You two doing okay?" She asks, looking back and forth between the two of them. Her hair is pulled into a loose bun, and she looks like she hasn't slept properly in a while. It reminds Castiel of how he must look.

"We're doing fine," Dean says, then taking another look at Castiel, turns back to Ruby. "Actually, can we have the bill?"

"Sure thing."

When Ruby gives Dean the bill, he clears his throat for a second. "Hey, Ruby? Is Anna doing okay?"

"Yeah? Why do you ask?"

"Dunno," Dean shrugs. "Just curious, I guess. You said she was a little shaken up after the fire." 

Castiel watches as Ruby rubs at her wrist, as if doing it unconsciously. "She was, but she's doing better now."

"Is she? I haven't seen her in town in a while."

"She's been staying home, working on her art. I'm sure she'll be back in town sooner or later." Ruby glances back at the kitchen, already walking away. "I should get going."

After she leaves, Dean worries his bottom lip between his teeth. "That was weird, right? I'm not just imagining things?"

"Do you think something is going on that Ruby isn't telling us? About Anna?" Castiel asks.

"I mean, I wouldn't wanna spill my guts to my girlfriend's ex either, but something's going on. It's not really our business though, so I guess I can't blame her." Dean shrugs as he places his credit card into the bill, only to have Castiel pull the bill toward himself and replace Dean's card with his own. He slides Dean's card back to him, raising his eyebrows, daring Dean to change the cards. Dean paid for them last time.

"Really?" Dean says as he places his card back into his wallet.

"Yes, really. You don't have to pay for me all the time, you know."

"Yeah, yeah," Dean grumbles as he rises out of his side of the booth. "Now, you ready to write that story or what?" 

They get back to the office feeling better than earlier, but it doesn't change the fact that they're working with nothing. As the hours pass, Castiel gets more and more frustrated with the way the story isn't progressing, so much so that he puts his head down onto his desk around five and closes his eyes. Maybe things will start making sense if he takes a long nap, or maybe he'll just wake up with an even larger headache. Either way, Castiel is ready to fall into bed. With him having the same dream all the time and waking up in the middle of the night because of it, he hasn't been getting as much sleep as he likes to. The result is him being half-asleep during the day, but sometimes when he climbs into bed, he stares at his ceiling from hours and waits for his eyelids to get heavy, but they never do. Maybe he's just meant to be a night owl.

Most people have left the office by now, since their stories are submitted. Usually, Castiel gets his in by around four, but he's still staring at a blank document.

He and Dean have until midnight, so it's perfectly feasible for them to write it at the last literal minute, if needed, but he would rather not stay here that long. They could relocate back to Castiel or Dean's house, but he has a feeling that if they go there, both of them will give up or just not be able to focus their attention on what they need to. 

When the clock turns to six, Castiel turns in his chair to Dean, who looks just as exhausted as Castiel. 

Dean rolls on the wheels of his chair, fingers tapping on the surface of the desk. "So, want to get some coffee?"

"Yes, I think that would be a good idea," Castiel says, standing up. They get over to the break room and use the machine to make themselves a fresh pot of coffee, each getting a full cup that they down easily.

"You think we're ever going to get anywhere, or should we just tell Naomi that we give up?"

"I doubt she would allow us to do that. Maybe we can just write about how we _don't_ know anything, and hope that it makes for a good story?"

"Yeah, I guess. Doesn't mean I'm gonna be happy with however it turns out."

"Yes, me neither."

Naomi leaves her office at seven, coming out to do a final sweep of the building before her eyes land on Dean and Castiel.

"What are you two still doing here?" She approaches them, right as Castiel is clicking through an article about Cain's farm, which he maintained with his brother before Abel died. He wonders why someone wrote an article about this so long ago. 

"We're still working on our article," Dean admits, rubbing a hand over his eyes. 

"I see. Have you two found anything out?"

"We're working on it," Dean says.

"Well, work harder. And faster." Her voice is clipped, and her mouth is turned down. "Will you two be staying here?"

"Should we leave?" 

Castiel glances between Dean and Naomi. "If it's alright with you, Naomi, then I think it would be best if Dean and I stay here until we finish."

"Can I trust the two of you to lock up after you're done?" Naomi waves her keys in the air. "I would not let you two stay here in any other circumstances, but that story needs to be completed by tonight." She pulls out one golden key from the ring and gives it to Dean, then takes the rest with her. "That will be the one to lock the front door, but I will take the rest with me. Turn all the lights off when you're done." Naomi turns on her heels and walks down the aisle to get to the front door, shutting off the front lights when she passes the switch. It leaves the room seeming darker, with only Dean and Castiel's area illuminated. When she leaves with a push of the glass, Dean lets out a sigh.

"Well, that was just weird. Do you think she's going to spy on us using the cameras or some shit when she gets home?" 

"I doubt she'll do that, Dean. And we should be done with this article soon enough."

"Yeah, the article might be crap, but I don't know, I still wanted to figure it all out, and we haven't done that." Dean pulls his laptop from the desk into his lap. "Have you found anything about Cain?"

"I'm not sure, I've been looking through old information and," he pauses, as he clicks through to a PDF. And what appears on the page isn't what he expected, but it does make things clearer. It's an arrest record for Cain for the murder of his brother Abel, dated back to 1943. "I think I found something?"

Dean rolls over in her chair to peek behind Castiel's screen, his shoulder brushing against Castiel's. "He got arrested for suspected first degree murder? Did he get acquitted?"

"I would think so, if he came to live here," Castiel clicks back a page to find more, but doesn't discover more. "That doesn't tell us anything helpful."

"Well, I found an interesting past on Kate Wheeley too. It turns out her younger sister ran away from the family once she turned sixteen, and they thought she would come back eventually, but weeks passed with no contact and they put out a missing person's case. When her sister didn't come back and no news was found about her, they moved here when Kate turned twenty-one."

"Maybe that's the common thread. People running away from what their past, and then someone finds out and perhaps blames them for running? So they decide to kill them as a form of justice?" Castiel suggests.

"Well, Kate probably felt guilty about letting her sister leave, and she could have blamed herself for what happened. And Cain could have killed his brother and felt the same way, but that doesn't explain what happened with Inias, or with my mom. And we can't exactly just say that these fires are linked to that fire. This is just turning into one giant mess, and we don't even have one of those boards to pin our evidence on like all the detectives do."

"The one's with the strings and tape connecting all the facts?" 

"Yeah, those. They use them on all those investigating shows nowadays." Dean stretches out into the back of his seat, and then looks down at his stomach. "Let's just get something written and get out of here. I'm ready for dinner." Rather than return to his own desk, he remains sitting next to Castiel, humming as he types. Castiel does his best to ignore the other man's presence, focusing on the Google document and reading what Dean's writing, but he finds his mind drifting back to the other night, where Dean had pushed him up against the cabinet and devoured his mouth. He wants Dean to do it again, or he wants to do that to Dean. He's not sure which is a better idea, but both sound good.

There are freckles even on Dean's knuckles, Castiel notices, and his fingers work easily over the keyboard, as if he could write with his eyes closed. He wonders what that hand would feel like on him, and he clenches his jaw, trying to force the image away, but he can't. Dean's fingers trailing down his chest, leaving bursts of heat in their wake, going lower until he tugs at Castiel's jeans, popping the button himself and pushing them off, while Dean's mouth works at Castiel's, breathing out curses into his mouth. 

Castiel squeezes his eyes shut so tight so sees spots dance behind his eyelids, trying to force the image away, but it doesn't leave, especially when Dean reaches over and squeezes his arm.

"You okay?"

_No_ , Castiel wants to say, but instead says, "Yes."

"Alright, well I added on another couple paragraphs to what you wrote, and I think we can send it to Hannah now. I don't want to look at it anymore." Dean clicks to share the document with Hannah, but pauses before entering Hannah's email. "Unless you want to look it over one last time?"

"No, I trust that you wrote whatever was needed." Castiel tries to look anywhere that's not at Dean's face. "You can just share it."

Dean finishes entering Hannah's email, letting out a breath as the action is completed. He doesn't move away from where he's sitting though, instead staring at his screen almost blankly. The seconds tick by, but neither of them move away, even as the silence gets louder. 

"Cas, I know neither of us have mentioned what happened the other night, and I'm the poster boy for avoiding things, but should we talk about it?" Dean shuts the lid of his laptop and turns to Castiel, licking his lips as he does.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Yeah, I feel like we kind of have to. I mean, do you think it was a mistake?" And isn't that the million dollar question, if there ever was one. Just thinking about the memory of Dean's lips makes him want. He wants whatever Dean's willing to give to him, and he wants to give what he can in return. 

He's known desire before, but never anything like this. Nothing like this. 

"As I recall, you were the one who said we shouldn't," Castiel says. 

"Yeah, well that's because I was scared, Cas. What if we start something and it ends up going south? I don't want to lose you," Dean admits, making Castiel's mouth go dry.

"You won't lose me," Castiel says, and he means it. "Even if it doesn't work out, I'll still be your friend."

"That's what everyone says, and then we end up never talking to each other again."

"I think that would be difficult, considering we work with each other," Castiel says, and Dean gives him a smile.

"So you're saying I'm stuck with you?"

Castiel nods, "Yes, I think I am."

"That's good." Dean jerks a thumb back at his desk, "I'll just pack my stuff up, and then we can go grab dinner or something?"

Dean's pushes his chair back to his own desk, and Castiel turns away from him to put his own laptop back into his bag. He keeps his fingers frozen over the top of the laptop case, unsure if Dean means dinner as a date, or it'll just be like any other dinner they've shared. He's ready for either, but he's hoping for the first option.

Just as he pulls the zipper to the case closed, he feels a tap at his shoulder. He turns around in confusion, but when as soon as he turns, Dean has his mouth sealed over his, his lips insistent on Castiel's, and _oh_. 

Castiel lets his fingers slide along Dean's shoulders, pushing him backwards to lean against a desk. Dean sucks Castiel's tongue into his mouth, letting out a ragged breath when Castiel twists a hand into Dean's hair. 

Everywhere Dean touches him in return is too much and not enough, even as Dean traces his fingers along Castiel's waist, just as he did the other night. Castiel kisses along Dean's jaw, scraping a kiss along the little stubble Dean has, and moves down to his neck, breathing in a scent that is so utterly Dean that his head is spinning. Looking up, he catches Dean's eyes watching him intently, and then he settles his mouth under Dean's collarbone and sucks a bruise there, brushing a kiss over the spot when he's done. 

This time when he looks up, Dean's pupils are blown wide, and his breath is coming in short gasps.

Castiel continues his trail down Dean's body, wishing that there were less layers of clothing between them, but he can get Dean naked another time. For now, he goes back up and presses a kiss to Dean's mouth, softer than any of the kisses earlier, and he taps a finger to the waistband of Dean's jeans.

"Is it okay if these come off?" Castiel asks against Dean's lips.

Castiel can feel more than see Dean's swallow. "Please."

Nodding, Castiel tucks his face into the space between Dean's shoulder and neck, fumbling with the button on Dean's jeans, and then pulling down the zipper. He feels Dean shake out a breath as Castiel reaches under the waistband of his boxers, touching his hand to the warm skin beneath there, before pulling out Dean's cock. He presses his thumb over the head of it, and Dean's hips snap forward, coming right off of the edge of the desk. The second time he does it, Castiel twists his arm to the right while worrying the skin of Dean's earlobe between his teeth. 

"Fuck, Cas," Dean chokes out, "don't stop."

"I wasn't planning to," Castiel saying with a smirk, twisting his hand enough to make Dean moan this time. 

This would be easier to do if there was lube, but since there isn't any, Castiel will have to make do with what he has. So, he sinks to his knees and takes Dean's cock into his mouth.

He uses his fingers to push down Dean's jeans and boxers so that they're not in the way, then hollows his mouth as he tries to take more of Dean in. The last time he did this was many years ago, but he thinks he won't choke if he just focuses on his breathing. 

Dean's hands come to twist into Castiel's hair, not quite holding him in place, but applying enough pressure that Castiel feels a tingle shoot through his spine, feeling his own arousal press against his jeans.

After a minute or so, he pulls off and makes eye contact with Dean, who's biting his lips so hard that Castiel's afraid he might draw blood. And wouldn't that be something.

"You can make noise if you want to, Dean," he says, before licking up along a vein on Dean's cock. "You can also fuck my mouth if you want to," he adds, and Dean lets out another moan.

This time, when Castiel takes Dean back into his mouth, he lets Dean's cock sink as far back into his throat as he can, glad to see his gag reflex hasn't acted up yet. And then Dean starts pushing his hips back and forth, hitting right against the back of Castiel's throat, and it's Castiel's turn to let out a moan, Dean's fingers tightening their grip in Castiel's hair. Dean hips start to work in and out of his mouth with a steady rhythm, and Castiel can't remember the last time he felt this warm all over, or like he was about burst right out of his skin. But there's emotions bubbling right underneath the surface, and Castiel knows that what he feels for Dean is too strong to put into words. He doesn't know if that scares him or not.

Dean's hips begin to stutter from the even pattern they were moving in before, and he tries to pull Castiel's head back, but Castiel's mouth remains sealed over his cock, even when Dean's spilling down his throat, letting out a ragged cry.

Castiel waits to make sure Dean's done, then finally pulls back, nuzzling the head of Dean's cock, before Dean tugs him to his feet.

"How are you so good at that?" Dean asks against Castiel's mouth, still out of breath.

Castiel shrugs and kisses Dean, enjoying the way Dean's mouth molds so perfectly against his. He almost misses Dean's fingers catching against Castiel's jeans, quickly freeing Castiel's cock and the way Dean's long fingers latch onto it. His hand is hot on Castiel, almost too warm but Castiel goes along with it. Dean drags his fingers up and down, but it's just not enough pressure.

"Stop being such a tease," Castiel groans as he pulls back from Dean's lips. The lopsided grin Dean gives him makes Castiel want to punch him, but it also makes him want to push Dean down onto the desk so he can have his way with him.

"You're gonna have to say please," Dean says, a teasing glint in his eyes. He uses his free hand to bring Castiel closer to him, kissing him close-mouthed, which is nice and all, but not even _close_ to what he needs right now. And Dean's hand stays unmoving on his cock, which is still harder than ever. Castiel growls as he leans back from Dean's mouth, placing his lips right against Dean's ear.

"So help me, Dean, if you don't put your hand to good use I swear I'll-" He cuts off when Dean twists his hand, but then Dean's back to doing nothing. Castiel swallows and whispers into Dean's ear. " _Please_."

Dean hisses out a breath between his teeth and finally starts pumping Castiel's cock in his fist, just as Castiel finds his way back to Dean's lips. It only takes a few minutes before Castiel feels the pressure in his spine snap, coming into Dean's hand and falling into Dean, almost boneless. His feet feel unsteady where he stands, but Dean's there to catch him.

"You good?" He asks, while Castiel focuses on not passing out.

"I'm fine. What about you?" He asks when he trusts himself not to fall to the floor. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fucking fantastic, Cas," Dean says with an amused smile. "But I think we better get out of here before it starts getting late." Castiel buttons his jeans up as Dean does the same, although only using one hand since the other is covered in Castiel's come. Pulling a tissue box from his desk, he hands it to Dean to wipe his hand off, who throws the used tissues into a waste basket under his desk.

Castiel pulls on the strap for his laptop bag, then turns to see Dean staring at him with a strange, soft look in his eyes.

"Want to get some Chinese food?" Dean asks.

"God, yes."

They lock the building, shut the lights, and pile back into Dean's car. On the ride home, they don't say anything, but Castiel can tell things are going to change between them. And that's okay.

Dean gives him a smile at the stoplight, looking at him with small crinkles in the corners of his eyes, and Castiel can't look away from him.

Yeah, he's more than okay with that.

• • •

When Castiel wakes up two weeks later, it's to the sight of Dean staring at him.

He blinks twice, unsure if Dean is really in front of him, or if he's still dreaming. It had been a nice dream.

When Dean doesn't disappear before his eyes, Castiel rubs his knuckles into his eyes, trying to get rid of how sluggish he still feels.

"What time is it?" 

"I think it's eight," Dean says, still staring at him.

"Weren't you the one who told me thatstaring at people was creepy?" Castiel asks, and then Dean's words register. "It's only eight? And it's a Saturday?" He groans before burying his face in the pillows again, trying to fall back into slumber.

Dean's voice comes from beside him, right next to his right ear. "You know, I might be motivated to make you breakfast if you get out of bed now."

"No," Castiel says petulantly, pushing his face further into his pillow. "You can make it for me and bring it here."

A little while later, Castiel wakes up with his bed empty, assuming Dean is still in his kitchen. As of late, they've been alternating between sleeping in Castiel's bed or Dean's, depending on where they are for the night. If Castiel's being honest, he never imagined things with Dean could work so effortlessly. They haven't really been on technical dates, but they eat dinner together almost every other night. It's as if things between them are just the same as they had been before, except they kiss a lot more now and sleep in the same bed.

So far, the only people they've officially told are Sam, Jess, and Charlie, since they're both not sure how the people at work are going to take it. He doesn't think there's a rule against workplace romances, but he doubts Naomi would care either way, as long as Dean and Castiel focus on work while they're at work.

They'll tell everyone in their own time, but for now, Castiel lets himself live just a little bit longer in the moment, stretching over into Dean's pillow where it still smells like Dean's shampoo. After a couple more minutes of lying there, he forces himself to get up and go to the bathroom, brushing his teeth, and catching his expression in the mirror. There are hollows under his eyes.

Castiel doesn't understand why, but he's finding himself to be getting tired easily these days. It's probably because of all the times we wakes up in the middle of the night, not calming down until he sees Dean looking at him. And then he feels guilty, because he's always waking Dean up when Dean also needs to get some sleep. But Castiel can't stop his nightmares when he doesn't know the cause of them, and he hopes they don't last forever.

He goes back out to his kitchen, wearing boxers and a t-shirt, and finds Dean with a spatula in his hand, standing at the stove. Castiel moves in closer to him, curling his hands around Dean's waist and tucking head against Dean's shoulder. He presses a soft kiss to Dean's neck.

"Hey there, sleepyhead."

"Good morning." Castiel peers over Dean's shoulder to see that he's making pancakes, and lets out a happy sigh.

"There's already some waiting on a plate for you," Dean says, pointing his spatula to a plate on the counter. "I was actually gonna bring them to you as soon as I finished making my own."

Castiel removes his fingers from Dean's waist and picks up the plate, which is sitting right next to a mug of coffee. "Dean, you're-"

"Amazing? Awesome? The world's best boyfriend?"

Castiel pauses. "I was going to say incredible, but I suppose all of those also work." His heart beats a little quicker when he thinks about how Dean said the word boyfriend, since they haven't officially used it yet. Sure, they've been sleeping at each other's houses, but Castiel isn't sure if he calls their lunches and dinners dates. It's just that they've always been going out to eat together, even before the thing that happened between them in the office, and neither he nor Dean have used the word 'date' yet. 

"You okay? You're thinking really hard over there," Dean says, snapping Castiel out of his thoughts. 

"I'm sorry, it's just that you called yourself my boyfriend."

"Oh." Dean visibly deflates, putting his spatula down. "Sorry, I should have asked you before I said anything. I just thought we were..." Dean trails off, looking to the side. "Forget I said it."

Castiel steps forward, taking Dean's right hand and interlocking it with his left. "No, it's not that I didn't like it. I just didn't know if that was what you wanted."

"Cas," Dean says, swallowing as he takes in their intwined fingers. "It's all I want."

Castiel cups Dean's face in his free hand and kisses his chastely on the lips. "So we're boyfriends."

"Hell yeah we are." Dean presses a firmer kiss to his lips before letting go of his hand. "I should get these pancakes off before they burn."

"Right," Castiel says, eyes soft as he turns away from him. He sips at the coffee, feeling it sink down his throat, prepared just the way he likes it. "Do you have work today?"

"Yeah, but I don't have to go in till noon. Why, did you want to do something today?"

"I thought I might go grocery shopping, but that's pretty much it."

"Yeah, your fridge is half empty, Cas. I was going to make you an omelet, but I couldn't find any eggs."

"Yes, I've been meaning to buy those. Though, I thought you didn't like to watch me eating an omelet, Dean? Since I put ketchup on it?"

"You're right, that's still gross," Dean quips, but he has a smile on his face when he flips the pancake onto his plate, shutting the stove off as he does. "Can you grab the syrup while I get some forks and knives?"

Castiel goes to the fridge, pulling it open, but at the same instance, he feels as if the metaphorical bottom just fell out of his stomach, and he slumps down against the door.

"Cas? You okay?" Dean says, immediately arriving at Castiel's back.

"I'm fine, just a little tired, I think."

"You've been off for a couple weeks now, Cas. Do you want to go to the doctor today? I can call out of my shift."

"No, that's not necessary. I'm sure it's just the season's changing or something that has me feeling like this. I'm not used to this area, after all," Castiel says as Dean shuts the fridge door and guides him into a chair. "Really, I'm fine."

A furrow between Dean's eyebrows tells Castiel that Dean isn't going to drop this, so Castiel presses a quick kiss to his forehead. "Let's eat, Dean."

Dean still looks unconvinced, but gets and brings their plates, putting them down onto the table.

Castiel's stomach feels strange, but he eats three pancakes anyways, just to prove to Dean that he's fine. Because he is.

At least, he thinks he is.

Once Dean leaves to go to work, Castiel's left alone in his house and is incredibly close to falling asleep on the couch. His eyelids are tugging with exhaustion, even though he's only been awake a few hours.

He decides to go into town anyways, grabbing his car keys from their place on the wall and going out to his Continental. He goes into Main Street, then turns onto the next street to pick up groceries. 

As he pushes his cart through the aisles, he can't help but get this strange feeling that someone or something is looking at him, and the feeling gnaws at him as he picks up a carton of eggs, that he almost drops. Maybe it's because he's just tired, but he can't help but feel uneasy the whole way out to his car. Pushing the cart, he tries not to pay much attention to all the loud noises around him, and instead just focuses on getting to his car and unloading the groceries so that he can get back home, but before he can do that, he sees someone standing next to his car.

"Claire?" He asks as he moves in closer, seeing her looking down at her phone. At his voice, she looks up with a half smile. 

"Hey, I saw your car here, and I thought I'd stick around. Talk to you, or something." Claire shrugs. "Your car is really crappy, you know that?"

"So I've been told." Castiel goes to the trunk to open the car up and put his groceries inside, only to find Claire standing next to him.

"Grocery shopping, huh? Is this how you spend your Saturdays?

"Well, since you were in the parking lot of the grocery store, I am to believe that you too were at the grocery store," Castiel says, noticing the plastic bag in Claire's hand.

"Yeah, well, Jody wanted me to pick up some stuff, so I offered to do it since I was tired of sitting around at home." 

"Don't you have homework to do? And college applications to complete?"

"Yeah, like that's what I want to deal with on a Saturday morning." She looks back at the phone in her hand as Castiel shuts the trunk of his car, and she looks torn between deciding whether to say something or not.

"Is something wrong?" He asks while she's still deliberating.

"It's nothing. It's just that, I dunno, I felt like I kind of left you hanging the other day, huh?"

"What other day?"

"You know, when I came over to your house with mom's journals."

"It was an unexpected visit, but it was not unwelcome. You can come to my home whenever you want."

"Really? Even though I'm a jerk to you? I mean, I know that I'm allowed to be a jerk because you were a jerk to me, but you're trying so hard to make things better and I feel like I'm being really fucking stubborn." She lets out a deep sigh. "Which doesn't make any sense, because why should I feel bad when you didn't care how I felt? But then I feel like people do stupid things when they're feeling down, and just, I know what it feels like. To feel like you're just going through the motions everyday, and if you're trying to make things better, then why should I be stopping you?"

Hands pausing on his car keys, Castiel darts his eyes back and forth between both of Claire's. "What are you trying to say?"

"I don't know. That's what I'm trying to say. I don't know if I should forgive you, I don't know if I'm still mad, and I just, I don't know. Is that a good enough answer?"

"I-"

"No, I'll just go. Enjoy your afternoon, Castiel," Claire says, leaving him standing next to his car. He doesn't know what to make of that encounter. It's clear that Claire still doesn't think she should forgive him, and once again, Castiel can't blame her at all for that, but it also seemed like she was trying at least? To make things better between both of them. Well, all he can do at this point is just wait and see what happens next, since it's not his decision to make. Either Claire will figure things out and decide to forgive him, or she'll forgive things out and decide she still doesn't want Castiel in her life.

Whatever happens, it's out of his hands.

Instead of driving back home, Castiel goes to the coffee shop on Main Street where he met Dean three months ago. The shop is familiar to him now, for all the times that he finds himself here with Charlie and Dean. He orders a cup of coffee from Krissy, still not too hungry after eating the breakfast that Dean made him. But part of him still feels tired, like there's a weariness hidden underneath his bones, and he wants to wake himself up. It's probably just the hours getting to him.

Bringing his coffee cup to a corner table, he sets the cup down and sits down in the chair, stretching his legs out. Maybe he should check his email, see if Meg has sent him anything new. Not that he wants her to say anything to him about his next book. Not yet.

He feels a presence at his right shoulder while he's scrolling through useless email after email, and looking up, he finds Sam looking down at him.

"Hey, Cas. Mind if I join you?"

"Yes, of course," Castiel says, nodding at the seat across from him. "What are you doing here?"

Sam sets down his own cup of coffee, letting out a long sigh. "I came in late last night and crashed for eight hours. Jess said she has some stuff to take care of until noon, and then she's free for the rest of the weekend, so I figured I'd go grab some coffee," Sam tells him, taking a sip from his cup. "Why are you here? Got bored of Dean already?"

Castiel rolls his eyes, toying with the lid of his coffee. "No, Dean's at work right now so I went grocery shopping. And now I;m having coffee."

"Are things good between you two?"

"Yes, I suppose."

"That's good, but just know that-" Sam cuts off, and Castiel expects him to give a belated 'break his heart and I'll break you' speech, but Sam just leans back in his chair and sighs. "Look, I don't know if Dean's said anything about this yet, but we didn't have the greatest childhood. I mean, it was worse for Dean than me. My dad made us move around a lot, and every time we thought we were going to stay somewhere for good, we would just up and move again. So, Dean's not really good at forming attachments to people. He's afraid they'll leave him like he had to leave all of them." Sam meets his eyes, his expression heavy. "So, don't blame yourself if Dean seems standoffish."

Castiel doesn't feel like Dean's the one holding back from him. In fact, he feels like he's the one that's holding back from Dean. "Thank you for letting me know."

"Hey, what are friends for?" Sam says, leaning an elbow onto the table. "Besides, we were friends before you and Dean were friends."

"I was convinced your brother hated me for the longest time," Castiel admits.

"He would complain about you all the time, you have no idea. Me and Jess were convinced he had a crush on you. And well, we were right."

Castiel smiles down into his coffee cup as he brings it to his lips. "How are you and Jess?"

"We're both good. It sucks that I'm back at school, but we see each other most weekends anyways. And there's also Skype and all that other stuff." Sam scrubs a hand down his face. "It's just work that's being a pain in my ass."

"Work? I thought you were only working in that firm over the summer?"

"Well, yeah, but I still have a couple cases that I was helping with that need to close, so I'm still working on those whenever I can."

Castiel is reminded of something Dean told him weeks ago, and now is a good time as any to ask Sam. "Dean said you used to work with Amelia," Castiel says, pushing past the thickness in his throat.

"Yeah, we did for a few months. We didn't really talk much because I was just an intern, but she seemed nice. How close were you guys?"

"Just a little."

"It still must have hurt when you found out she passed, huh? I mean, me and John weren't close, and I kind of hated the guy, but it still hurt when he died." Sam looks out the window instead of at Castiel. "Didn't Amelia have a daughter?"

"Yes, Claire. She's why I came to this town, actually. I wanted to repair our relationship."

"Things didn't end well after Jimmy and Amelia died?"

Castiel snorts. "That's putting it lightly. I kind of shut down after Jimmy died, so I wasn't even there for her and Amelia when they moved here. And then Amelia passed so suddenly and I didn't know how to help Claire."

"Yeah, I remember when I heard about Amelia. She was sick for a few weeks, but I don't think she thought it was anything serious. I mean, who would think the worst when they were so young, you know?"

"I know what you mean." 

"Death is just another part of life, I guess." Sam opens his mouth again, then stops. "God, that sounded so morbid. Why are we having this conversation again?"

"I don't really know, to tell you the truth," Castiel says, pushing away his coffee. He's only through half of it, but he doesn't feel like drinking it anymore.

A group of loud teenagers come into the shop, one of them laughing obnoxiously at something they see. Castiel almost laughs himself at the way Krissy grimaces when they all approach her.

"Hey, you want to go for a walk or something?" Sam asks, placing down his empty coffee cup with a thunk. 

"I would, but I have groceries in the car, and I should really get the milk and eggs in the fridge before they go bad," Castiel says, rising out of his seat. "Maybe we can go some other time?"

"Yeah, sure, Cas. See you later." Sam waves, getting up and moving to the trash can to throw away him empty cup. Castiel takes his half-empty one and throws it out too.

When he gets back home, he thinks about making Dean dinner for once instead of them ordering out or Dean making something. And then he thinks about taking a nap for a couple hours. Yeah, the nap sounds like a good idea.

He goes upstairs to his bedroom, going into his walk-in closet where he knows he'll find the big blankets on top. Now that autumn is rolling in, things are getting cooler and less humid, but Castiel's house is especially cold. Maybe there's a problem with the heating ducts in the house.

Castiel pulls out a navy blue blanket, but before he leaves the closet, his old trench coat catches his eye. He should start wearing it again.

By the time he manages to get into bed, it's well past lunchtime, but he decides to skip lunch and eat something when he wakes up. He hasn't really been that hungry lately, but that probably is because of his fucked-up sleep schedule. The last time it was this out of order had been during the months after Jimmy's death, which is strange, because Castiel thinks he's doing a lot better than he had been then. Sure, things with Claire are still rocky, but he finally found a home. The guilt in his stomach hasn't been quite as heavy as of late, but then there's the nightmares he gets. Maybe his subconscious isn't ready to forgive him so easily. 

Castiel wraps the blanket around himself before pulling down the top sheet, burrowing into the little warmth he gets from them. He wishes Dean was here, wrapped around him instead. At least Dean's steady heartbeat would lull him to sleep instead of the thick silence in the room. It seems to cut at Castiel's ears until he feels like there's a faint ringing noise reverberating through the room. He tries to ignore it, but it gets louder and louder until he's sure that he's not just imagining the noise, but that it's actually there. When he gets out of the covers to investigate, since it might be his phone ringing from downstairs, the noise tampers off.

Maybe it really is the lack of sleep getting to him.

But instead of going back into the bed, Castiel takes his pillow and goes into the guest room, where the sheets are still neat from weeks ago. The last time he changed them had been when Dean slept over, and ended up joining him in bed halfway through the night. And every time after that, they've slept in the same bed together. And though the bad dreams haven't tapered off yet, it's nice to have someone next to him when he can barely breathe and feels like everything is collapsing. It's nice to have Dean next to him.

Castiel exchanges the pillow in the bed and wrestles himself into a comfortable position, already regretting not bringing the blue blanket with him. 

Sooner or later, he must fall asleep, because the next thing he knows, he's waking up to a room filtered in shades of deep violet and red. The sparse snatches of light from the window make shadows of everything, which must mean it's close to sunset. He must have slept for hours.

And yet, he still feels as tired as he did before.


	9. Eight

Looking in the mirror, Castiel's not sure he recognizes the man staring back at him.

There's hollows under his eyes, shadows tinted with gray and purple. His cheeks seem more sunken in than they used to be, and his eyes aren't as bright as they've always been. He doesn't know if he's imagining the way his shirt seems to be hanging looser off his frame, or if it's always been like that. Because when he wakes up in the morning, all the new changes to his face seem to disappear and he feels almost okay again. It's just in the night where he seems like a walking ghost. 

Switching off the light in the bathroom, Castiel goes back to where Dean's sprawled out in the sheets, one hand held out to the side, as if waiting for Castiel. And as much as he wants to crawl back to him, he thinks it's better if he tries to sleep later. No need to toss and turn for the next hour and disturb Dean.

He walks downstairs to his kitchen, drinking a full glass of water as if that'll make him feel better. It doesn't. He could just pace around in circles and try tiring himself out, but he doubts that'll work. Or he could watch TV, but all that's on at three in the morning is infomercials and bad soap operas that Dean would probably like, but Castiel would rather not watch them. Maybe he could read a book, or maybe he could try knocking himself out with the sleeping pills he bought last week. 

Or, he thinks, walking toward the front door, he could go for a drive. It could clear his head a lot more than sitting in this house would. 

Castiel picks up his keys from the ceramic bowl he tossed them in, unlocking the front door as quietly as he can. Dean's usually a light sleeper, and Castiel isn't sure what explanation he could give to Dean right now. He's been trying to take Castiel to the doctor for the last couple weeks, but Castiel doesn't know how to explain that he doesn't feel like he has the flu or another illness, but rather, it's just something he feels in his head that makes him feel tired constantly.

By the time he pulls out onto the vacant street, he notices that the time is half past three. The night sky is filled with stars, almost pitch black with the moon a waning crescent. The light it offers is scarce. but the streetlamps flood the sidewalk in splashes of orange, creating pockets of sight before the landscape melts into the woods. Castiel still hasn't ventured deep into his backyard, wary after his neighbor mentioned poison ivy there, but he thinks the woods extend on for miles and miles. It's like the whole town is encased in trees, and it would only take one fire to let every inch ablaze. Of course, that almost happened a couple months ago, but they managed to get lucky.

He's not sure if it's thinking about the woods that lead Castiel there, but he finds himself driving toward the corner of town, where the abandoned Milton house is. Castiel hasn't seen it since that day he went inside with Dean, but he thinks that it'll probably look the same. Even at night.

Jody closed down the case about the fire, leaving it open to interpretation even though the official closing statement was that it was a fire borne of natural causes. And Naomi has finally stopped asking he and Dean to write about it, now that it's been a month since they wrote that last article. Which means it's been a month since he and Dean have been in a relationship, but Castiel feels like they've been together for a lot longer. Then again, time seems to come to a stop altogether whenever he's with Dean.

He thinks of the other man lying alone in bed, and he wonder if Dean will wake up without him. Shit, he should have left a note or something to tell Dean where he went, just in case he did wake up. Castiel just hopes he doesn't.

Looping through three streets, Castiel finally pulls into Piper Lane, where the road turns uneven and the gravel crunches under him. He sees a deer run into the woods as he comes closer to it, the headlights of his car reflecting on the trees where it disappeared. When he cuts off his engine, Castiel finds himself brought to a still. He doesn't know why he came here.

The house itself is quiet, obviously, but it looms over the land eerily, with no car in the driveway and the closest streetlamp halfway down the street. One of the larger trees in the yard blocks out the sun, making the house a shadowy figure, like something out of a Stephen King novel.

His fingers unlock the latch of the car door before he's aware of what he's doing.

The grass he walks across is even, some of it sticking higher than another patch. He doesn't know why he's walking or where he's trying to go. All he knows is that he's beyond tired and he just wants the exhaustion to go away. Castiel can't remember the last time he felt well rested.

The porch steps are creakier than he remembered, sloping inelegantly under him as he braces himself against the wooden railing. The cold of the night bites into his cheeks, reminding Castiel that he came here in nothing more than a t-shirt and flannel pajamas. But the wind pushing into him is an afterthought, because when he puts his hand to the doorknob of the house, he feels normal for the first time in weeks.

As soon as he lifts his hand away, the rest of his surroundings filter back in, and Castiel becomes aware that he's on the porch of the Milton house in the middle of the night, here for no reason. And then he hears footsteps behind him.

Turning around, Castiel braces himself to see anyone from Jody to Dean to Bigfoot, if he's being honest, but there's no one there. It must have been a trick of the wind.

In fact, Castiel isn't sure why he's here, what brought him to this place when he could be back at home, safe in his bed. What's happening to him?

His breath comes heavy as he pitches down the steps, the sound of blood rushing in his ears. He tries to focus on regulating his breathing, but nothing seems to add up in his head, and he feels vertigo taking over, stumbling over to his car. His fingers feel like they're about to fall off.

Getting back into his car is a struggle, but he turns the engine on immediately and powers up the heat to warm his hands. They're numb against the steering wheel, but he starts driving his car anyways, wanting to get off this street as soon as he can.  

He swerves onto the next street going fifteen above the speed limit, but luckily there's no one around right now. It's when he's halfway home that his phone starts ringing from where he threw it in the seat beside him earlier. He reaches across to pick it up, because it has to be Dean, who probably woke up to an empty bed and is pacing in circles, wondering where he could be. But when Castiel goes to swipe across the screen to answer the phone, his hands are still shaking so much that the phone falls right out of his hand and lands on the floor of the passenger side.

"Fuck," he curses, trying to reach for it in vain. it starts ringing again a couple seconds later, but instead of pulling over to find it and answer it, he presses harder on the gas pedal and tries to get back home as quick as he can. This is something that Castiel has to tell Dean in person.

He makes it home a few minutes later, trying to focus on his breathing and calm the racing of his heart. He's back at home and okay. In through the nose. Count to three. Out through the mouth. Rinse and repeat.

As soon as he makes it to his front door, the door yanks open before he can even put his key in. He's pulled into a warm chest, pressing his cold nose to the side of Dean's neck, clutching at his back with shaking fingers.

"Jesus Christ, Cas, what the hell?" Dean half-shouts, his chin pressing into Castiel's shoulder. 

"I'm sorry," Castiel says, his hands still curled into Dean's shirt. He smells like wood chips and cinnamon, and Castiel breathes him in. Even when he feels like everything's crumbling around him, there's Dean, still here with him and solid, someone that Castiel can lean on. Castiel closes his eyes when they start to burn the longer he holds Dean, and he feels tears springing into the corner of his eyes. 

"Sorry? Where were you?" Dean pulls back and takes a look at Castiel's face, where he's sure Dean can see his tears even in the dimly lit hallway. "Baby, what's wrong?"

"I don't," Castiel stops when his voice cracks. "I don't know where to start."

"That's okay. You don't have to say anything if you don't want to," Dean says, catching Castiel's fingers and tugging him into the hallway. "You can tell me in the morning."

"No, I should tell you now," Castiel insists, because he knows he won't be able to say anything in the morning.

Dean nods, but continues to lead them into the bedroom, where sits down onto the mattress alongside Castiel. He begins to move his thumb in tiny circles along the back of Castiel's hand. "Alright, say whatever you want."

Castiel swallows the knot in his throat and begins. "I woke up and I couldn't fall back asleep," Castiel starts, sucking in a breath.

"You could've woken me up," Dean says, but Castiel shakes his head.

"No, you needed the sleep, Dean, I didn't want to bother you. But I couldn't sleep so I went downstairs to do something and then I decided to go for a drive. Clear my head, or something like that." He shrugs. "I was planning on just going around the block a few times, coming back within fifteen minutes, but then it was as if something came over me and I felt this compulsion to go to the Milton house."

"You drove all the way to Piper Lane? In the middle of the night?" Dean asks, incredulous. His thumb continues to rub circles against the back of Castiel's hand.

"I didn't know what I was doing, Dean. I just wanted to drive somewhere and that's where I ended up."

"Okay, so then what did you do next?"

"That's the thing that scares me so much. I got out of my car and went up to the front steps. I was there for a minute or so, and then I thought I heard footsteps behind me, but when I turned around, there was no one there. So then I came back home," Castiel narrates, omitting the other parts. Like where he felt his exhaustion leave only when he was at the front door, or the way he was shaking the entire car ride home from more than just the cold. The last thing he wants to do is worry Dean more than he has in the last twenty minutes. 

"You got out of the car? Wearing nothing but that? God, Cas, you're already sick as it is, so why the hell would you do that?"

"It's not like I thought about it, Dean. It was like I was compelled to do it."

"Compelled? What, like there was someone telling you to do it?"

"I don't know exactly how to explain it, but I just know that it happened and I don't know why." He exhales a shaky breath, biting on his lower lip. "Do you think there's something wrong with me?"

Dean looks him up and down, placing his free hand on Castiel's knee and pressing it there. "I think you're just really tired, and you should go to the doctor again, Cas. Maybe you just haven't been resting enough."

The last time he went to the doctor, he was prescribed the sleeping pills that never worked. "Do you really think that'll help?"

"What else can we do? I mean, do you have anything you're stressed out about?"

_Everything_ , Castiel wants to answer. "I don't know."

"Then, hey, I promise it'll all be okay. We'll go to the doctor in the morning and see what he says." Dean leans forward and kisses Castiel's forehead gently. "You think you can go to bed now?"

"Maybe," Castiel lies, because he knows the answer is no.

"Good thing tomorrow's a Sunday, huh?" Dean says, before taking in the goosebumps still covering Castiel's arm. "You still cold?"

"A little."

"I know how we can fix that," Dean declares, before leaning back and pulling his shirt off, giving an exaggerated raise of his eyebrows. Despite everything, Castiel laughs. 

"You're an idiot," Castiel says, shoving at Dean's chest.

"What? I'm just trying to be helpful," Dean says, trying to look as innocent as possible, before he reaches and grasps the end of Castiel's shirt. Castiel nods his confirmation, so Dean reaches up and takes Castiel's shirt off for him, dropping it onto the floor. He then leans forward and kisses Castiel on the lips, pressing his thumbs to the corner of Castiel's mouth when he pulls away. "Whatever's going on, we'll figure it out. I know we will."

"Okay," Castiel nods, before tugging Dean to lie back on the bed.

They both go to sleep.

• • •

Castiel finds himself walking down the sidewalk to the stores on the West side of town the next day. With Dean gone to work for five hours, Castiel figures he has some spare time for himself before Dean gets back at four. He never comes to this part of town too much, since his work is on the other side of Main Street. Therefore, he's never had the opportunity to see the stores that are here, which is why when he sees a sign for The Coven, he pauses in his steps. 

He remembers meeting Rowena that day at the festival, as strange as their meeting had been. Then, he thinks about how there's this strange feeling of wrongness inside his body, and he doesn't know what to do with it.

Never once in his life has Castiel believed that he would be walking into a magic store, but he does it anyway.

It smells like lavender when he walks inside, wind chimes making a small tinkling noise above him. There are different display cases around the store, where there are various tables with velvet cloths on top of them. He steps onto a patterned rug, going to the closest display case, where he sees various charms inside, right next to stones like those he saw the other day. He thinks he recognizes that emerald stone that he saw in the past, and he's leaning in close to it, so that he doesn't see when Rowena comes up next to him.

"I was wondering if you'd ever come here, dear," Rowena says, startling him. So this is how Dean must feel when Castiel sneaks up on him at random times.

"I never thought I would ever come here, to be frank, but I was in the area," Castiel says as she moves to see what he was looking at. She's wearing an evening gown, this one is blue and green, with mid-length sleeves. She looks well put together, even though Castiel's sure it must get boring sitting around in a shop all day.

"Well then, if you're here, I might as well show you some things, hmm?" She slides open the glass of the display case, pulling out a tray full of the stones, which she places onto the glass. "Now, I see that you were looking at these?"

"Yes, they're all nice."

"Well, they're all real stones and gems, some with more power than others."

"Power? What do you mean by power?"

"Healing powers. Some of them can help you in ways you never thought they could. For example," she picks up a red stone, "this one can help bring serenity to your life, along with some romantic love," she says with a smirk. "And this one," she picks up an orange stone, "well, if you keep this in your pocket, then you're just a little bit luckier. Even though the colors not green, it works just the same."

Castiel almost laughs, but he thinks that would be rude. "How can stones have the power to do all that?"

Rowena arches an eyebrow at him. "What? Don't believe in magic?"

"I've never had reason to," he admits. 

"So you can believe in ghosts in the like, but not magic?"

"Who said I believed in ghosts?"

"I've read your book, hon. I'm guessing you wouldn't write about it unless it meant something to you, isn't that right?"

"Regardless of what I wrote, how can there possibly be such thing as ghosts? And magic?"

Rowena throws her head back and laughs at him. "Well, I don't know anything much about ghosts, but I do know about magic, I'd say, considering I'm a witch."

Castiel looks around and notices the altar table in the back table, complete with large books to the side of it. There's small crystals lined along the edge of it, a large pink stone in the middle. "So what you do is real?"

"As real as it can get, but let's forget about all that, shall we? Something tells me that you didn't just walk into this store because you fancied a chat with me." She lets her gaze linger on him, her eyes widening the longer she stares. "There's something wrong with you, isn't there, Castiel?" She walks around the display case to tilt his chin up in her hand, her manicured fingers pressing into him. "Let me guess. You're feeling tired, sick sometimes? Maybe you lost a bit of your appetite? Find yourself unable to sleep when you need it the most."

Castiel takes a step back from her, away from her hold. "How do you know all that?"

Rowena grins at him, waving a hand around her store. "Well, like I said, I'm a witch. And I've seen your case before. I know the type?"

"The type?"

"Yes, the type. You're not just feeling a little bit under the weather because you picked up a nasty cold, Castiel. Try going to a doctor and have them prescribe you medications, but believe me when I say none of them will work. Because it's not yourself that's sick, it's not a physical thing at all."

"Then what is it?" Castiel's voice wavers.

"That, my dear, I can't say. I'm afraid you'll have to figure it out yourself."

"Figure what out? You're not making any sense."

"Ah, well, if I gave you all the answers, then how would you learn?" Rowena says, but then the amusement fades from her face. "But if I were you, I would hurry and try to figure it out. Time is of the essence, as they say." Rowena picks up a stone and places it into the palm of Castiel's hand. It's the emerald one. "But for now, I can give you this. Free of charge."

"I can't just-"

"I'm sure you can afford it, but take it. Something freely given is far more powerful than something purchased."

"And what am I supposed to do with this?"

"Keep it when you whenever you can, and try not to let it fall into the wrong hands," Rowena shrugs. "It's all up to you." She turns around with a flair of her gown and walks back to her altar, humming to herself. Castiel leaves the shop with white noise filling his head, trying to hold onto the stone Rowena gave him. Holding it doesn't make him feel any different; he still feels the same way he did when he woke up this morning.  

After getting back home, Castiel takes a long and hot shower, letting the water beat down on him as he tries to think. He sticks his head under the stream, and just when he's wiping the water out of his eyes, he hears a strange noise. 

It sounds like there's someone banging something, a thumping noise. It's different than the ringing noise he heard that never day, more like a drumbeat than a high-pitched cacophony of sound. He never turned the stove on, or the laundry, so nothing should be making noise. And he locked the door when he came in, and no one else has a key to the house. Unless he's imagining the noise, like he probably had been the other time.

He tries to shrug it off, but as the water grows colder, it stays in the back of his mind. 

Rubbing a towel through his wet hair, Castiel hears it again. It sounds like someone is dragging furniture around.

Getting dressed as quickly as he can, Castiel looks around his bedroom to see if he can use something as a weapon, but there's nothing of use. He looks toward the lamp on his nightstand, but decides that he can't use that as a weapon if it comes down to it. His hands would shake too much. But there's also his laptop, which he left out on his nightstand when he came back from work. He could probably take it into both of his hands, use it as something to incapacitate someone if it comes down to it, but he'll just have to get close to them.

Gripping both sides of the laptop, he makes his way down the stairs and softly as he can, hearing another bang coming from the kitchen, then as he steadies his hands. Creeping closer and closer, he raises his arms up to defend himself against the burglar, but then lets out his breath in a long whoosh when he sees who it is.

"Dean, you scared the shit out of me," he exhales, seeing Dean turn to him with a pot in his hand.

"Why are you holding your laptop like that?"

Castiel lowers the object in his hands, putting it down onto the counter. "I was going to use this as a weapon."

"You were going to beat up the burglar using a laptop? Not sure if that's good thing to use, buddy," Dean says. "And besides, why did you even think there was someone in the house?"

"I heard noises while I was in the shower."

"I told you I was coming over after work."

"Yes, but I locked the-" Castiel pauses, turning to Dean. "I know I locked the door. How did you get inside?"

"What do you mean? Your door was unlocked when I got here, so I figured you left it open for me to come inside." Castiel goes to his front door to check on it, because he knows he left the door locked. He always makes sure to look the door, whether he's going outside or coming inside.

But when he twists the knob, he feels a give to it that wasn't there before. He turns it left and right, unlocking it and locking it, but the only way he's going to be able to check is if he locks the door and lets himself outside.

Securing the lock from the inside, he lets himself out onto his porch and pulls the door shut behind him. And then he takes a breath and turns his knob.

The door opens.

He blinks twice, repeating the motion another time just to make sure he's not imagining anything, but the same thing happens. If his door has never locked, if the lock has been broken all this time, why is he only realizing it now? 

Dean must come up behind him, because Castiel feels a hand clamp down on his shoulder, squeezing it gently.

"Cas? What's wrong?"

"The door," he says dumbly. "The lock's broken."

"Is it?" Dean turns the knob left and right, as if trying to figure out what's wrong. "Well, crap, good thing you caught this before someone could break in," Dean says. "We'll go to the store and pick out a new one tomorrow. Try putting a table or something against the door for now so no one else can get in," Dean suggests.

Numbly, Castiel drags over his side table and puts it right in front of the door, but he doesn't feel any better.

• • •

Castiel and Dean go to Benny's for their lunch break the following day, and Dean can immediately tell something is still off about Castiel. 

"Listen, Cas, you wanna make that doctor's appointment for this week?"

"I don't think that's necessary," Castiel says, thinking back to what Rowena told him yesterday. If he's to believe her, then the doctor won't be able to help him. He just doesn't know how to tell Dean that without Dean looking at him like he has two heads.

"You're getting worse, Cas, not better."

"I know that."

"Okay, so then why can't you just go to the doctor again? I'll come with you," Dean decides, placing his elbow on the table.

"Dean, I just don't think-" He trails off, unsure how to finish his sentence. Luckily, Ruby chooses that moment to come around to their table, but she takes a seat rather than just ask them how they're doing.

"You guys have a minute?" Ruby asks, worrying his lip between her teeth.

Dean's expression changes as he looks at Ruby. "Yeah, what's up?"

"It's Anna, she's, I don't know. I wasn't gonna tell you guys, but it got worse over the weekend and I'm getting worried." Ruby flickers her eyes back and forth between Dean and Castiel, as if trying to decide whether they can be trusted. She must decide that the answer is yes, since she continues. "She's been having these weird dreams, I'm not sure how else to explain them, but I think," she takes a breath, "I think it's because of the fire that happened? Well, that's what she says her dreams are about, anyway. So I was wondering if you guys had any idea about what caused it? Something you're not telling people? I mean, I know you guys probably aren't writing about it anymore and the case is closed and all, but I was hoping you had a clue, because I don't know what to say to Anna and I'm getting worried. 

"Dreams? How long have they been going on?" Dean asks. 

"For a few weeks now, I think."

Dean stretches forward into his seat to lean closer to Ruby. "Listen, me and Cas figured some stuff out, but nothing substantial. The pieces don't click."

And then Castiel remembers just who Anna is, meaning the daughter of Inias Milton. If anyone knows what could be messy about his past, it would be his daughter. "Ruby, is there any way we can talk to Anna?"

Ruby furrows her brow. "Yeah, you guys can come over to my place if you want. I get off work in an hour anyways? Do you think talking to her will help?" 

"I think it'll help both of us," Castiel says, and Dean must seem to realize what Castiel figured out moments out, since he nods his head.

"Alright, we can come back here after work, then we can follow you back to your place?"

"Sounds like a plan," Ruby says, getting up from the booth. 

Which is how they find themselves at Ruby and Anna's apartment a few hours later. When Ruby turns the lock in the key, Castiel remembers that he and Dean. still need to replace the locks in his home when they get back to his home. 

"Anna, hey, you here?" Ruby calls out as she hangs up her jacket and takes her shoes off. "I brought some guys home."

A red headed woman appears in the doorway, a frown on her face. "Guys? Who did you-" As soon as she notices Dean, her expression changes to one of familiarity. "Dean? What are you doing here?"

Ruby points a thumb at the two of them. "They wanted to come over here and talk to you." Ruby starts walking over to the kitchen area, going straight for the refrigerator. "Oh, and by the way, that's Cas over there."

Anna comes forward and smiles, holding a hand out to Castiel. "Nice to meet you." Her grasp is weaker than most when Castiel shakes her hand, but that could also be Castiel's fault. 

Dean looks between the two of them, an odd expression on his face. "Right, well, Anna, we got a couple questions for you, if you're up for answering them."

"Of course,"Anna says, leading them into the living room area. Dean and Castiel take a seat on the sofa across from Anna, who sits in arm chair. "Is something wrong?"

"No, it's just, well, Ruby told us about the dreams you were having."

"Oh, I see."

Castiel sees the way Anna stiffens her back and rushes to reassure her. "It's alright. Me and Dean may know why you're having them, but we need to ask you something first before we can be sure. It may seem a little personal, so you don't have to answer." Anna gives him a curt nod. "I know you were young, but do you remember when your father died?"

A haunted look enters Anna's eyes, just as Ruby joins Anna by sitting on the arm of the seat. "Yes, I remember. I can't tell you exactly what I was doing before, but I do remember coming inside the house to my mom screaming. She looked so scared, and my dad was nowhere to be found. I went up to my mom and asked her what was wrong, and she told me to go to my room. I didn't leave though, and I hid by the stairs and saw her-" Anna chokes back a sob, and Ruby takes Anna's hand into hers to hold onto it. "I saw my mom run into the spare bedroom on the first floor, and she came out with my dad, who was complaining of heart trouble. So then my mom brought him back to the kitchen, and she was just about to call 911 so that an ambulance could come, when I saw sparks flying out of something on the stove. Then a fire broke out, and my dad didn't make it out," Anna recounts. 

"So, the fire started out of nowhere?" Dean pushes. 

"Yes, it seemed like that. Things were hard for me and my mom after that, but it's not like they hadn't been hard in the past."

"What do you mean by that?"

Ruby tucks a strand of hair behind Anna's ear as Anna looks off to the right. "My parents were actually planning on divorcing, I think. They didn't really like telling me about it."

"Divorce?" Castiel asks before he can stop himself.

"Yes, I think my mom suspected my father of cheating on her when he went out on a business trip for the town. I don't know if my mom ever found anything that confirmed it, but she must have," Anna admits.

So, Inias Milton's past was that he cheated on his wife. That was his sin, but Castiel doesn't think he deserved to burn to death. He deserved to be divorced and left alone, but no one deserves arson.

"Do you remember anyone being in the house when the fire started?" He asks.

"No, I was too focused on my mom dragging my dad out of the room, but I don't think there could have been anyone in there. I was standing right next to the front door, and I knew that the back door was locked, so unless someone broke in and started the fire while the rest of us were occupied, then I have no idea."

Castiel lets this sink in, still trying to think about who could have gone into the Milton house and done such a thing. 

Unless...

"Anna, when you lived in the house, did you ever feel strange?"

"Strange? In what way?"

"As if there was someone with you in the house besides your mom and dad? A weird presence or weird things that used to happen? Maybe get tired when you didn't think you were meant to be?" 

He turns to see Dean look at him in confusion, but focuses on Anna's reply. "I didn't feel that way, but my dad did. He would complain that there was a draft in the room, or that he was tired in the middle of the day. My mom used to say it was because he worked himself to death, but I don't know. Things were different the last couple months before he died. He was different," Anna says. "Why do you ask?"

A chill runs down Castiel's spine. "I think whatever or whoever started the fire on Piper Lane is the same presence that started the fire that killed your father."

"Presence? Why do you say that?"

"I think the same thing is happening again," Castiel says, but he doesn't mention who it's happening to.

Because it's himself.

• • •

He doesn't say anything because he doesn't know what to say.

Two days pass and Castiel doesn't get worse at least, but he doesn't get any better either. Maybe Rowena's stone really is helping him, or maybe he's going insane. 

Dean looks him over from his side of the bed, where he's working on his story, even though it doesn't need to be submitted until tomorrow. Castiel put his laptop away a long time ago, deciding that writing the article was a problem for tomorrow.

"Hey, you good?" Dean asks. He's been asking that a lot for the last few weeks. 

"Fine," Castiel says, putting the Greek myths book back into the bedside table. The only light on in the room comes from the small lamp on the nightstand. "It's almost ten."

"Yeah, and?"

"I just thought you might want to go to bed soon," Castiel shrugs, trying to keep a straight face.

"What are we, senior citizens?" Dean bites back before he takes in the way Castiel is trying to hold back a smile. "Oh, I get it. You're just being a little shit on purpose."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Castiel says, watching as Dean puts his laptop into his case by the floor, before glancing back at Castiel.

"I think you do," he says, inching closer to Castiel on the bed, cupping the back of Castiel's head.

The kiss Dean gives him is nothing more than a firm press of lips. Castiel tries to put more into it and leans in closer to Dean, wrapping an arm around Dean's waist to keep him there. But Dean doesn't change the pace, keeping it chaste and gentle. Castiel opens up his mouth, pulling Dean's lower lip between his teeth, but Dean draws back and lets out a long sigh.

"What's wrong?" Castiel asks, suddenly concerned.

"Nothing, Cas, it's just that I don't want to do anything you're not okay with doing."

_What?_ "Dean, what are you talking about?"

"You know, you haven't been feeling the greatest lately, so I just thought that maybe you weren't up for sex. Which is fine, of course," Dean adds, focusing on the blue blanket on the bed instead of meeting Castiel's eyes.

"We haven't had sex in over a week," Castiel reminds him. They've only been together for a little over a month, so he feels like they should still be in the honeymoon phase, where they can't get enough of each other. And all because of Castiel's problems, they haven't been able to really do anything together.

Sometimes he really hates himself.

"And," Castiel continues, "I'm fine right now and I want this." He brings Dean back to him, whispering the next words across his lips. "I need this, Dean." 

Dean's still hesitant when their lips meet again, but it only takes a couple seconds for him to begin to kiss back in earnest, slipping his mouth open when Castiel licks across the seam of his lips. Dean's hands sear into his skin as they trail underneath his shirt, toying with the waistband of Castiel's boxers. A heat burns through Castiel's veins, lighting him up from the inside out. He feels alive again.

When Dean starts pushing at Castiel's shoulders', he get the idea that Dean wants him to move back, so he presses into the headboard, Dean coming to settle into his lip with his knees on either side of Castiel's hips. Dean bites down on Castiel's lower lip, making Castiel gasp into his mouth. He wraps a hand into Dean's hair and tugs him closer, as if that'll stop them from needing to pull apart for air. Eventually, they do, and Castiel blinks open his eyes, shocked still at how Dean's pupils are blown wide, ringed by electric green. He's looking at Castiel like he wants to devour him.

Castiel brings Dean back in, his fingers flying to spread under Dean's shirt, climbing up his spine and dancing along the heated skin. He wants his shirt off _now_.

Dean luckily seems to have the same idea, and moves away to do just that, throwing his shirt to the floor. He also drags his boxers down off his hips, climbing off Castiel so he can slip them down his legs and off. 

Castiel smirks at him. "What about mine?" He asks, looking down at his clothes. Dean moves forward to hook Castiel's shirt off, then resumes kissing him with fervor, his fingers sweeping down Castiel's chest. Castiel lets out a moan when Dean plays with his right nipple, feeling Dean grin into his mouth in response. His fingers still continue to move down, slowly slipping Castiel's boxers off of his hips and down his thighs like he's trying to torture him. Which, knowing Dean, he probably is.

But because Castiel's legs are sprawled out, Dean has to move away to completely pull Castiel's boxers down his legs and to the floor, chuckling when they get caught around Castiel's ankles. It takes maneuvering to get them fully off, and Castiel's grinning when Dean looks back at him.

"Now that was sexy, right?" Dean says, laughing as he climbs back into Castiel's lap. When their cocks come into contact, Castiel squeezes his eyes shut tight at how good just _that_ feels, wondering how much better it would feel if they went further. 

But Dean has other plans, since he latches his lips onto Castiel's neck, alternating between biting and licking the skin. There's going to be a mark there tomorrow and Castiel can't find it in himself to care. Dean doesn't stop there, though, and instead moves down his body with his lips, scraping blunt nails across Castiel's sides.

When he comes to Castiel's cock, Dean looks up at him through his eyelashes and winks, and Castiel's pretty sure he's two seconds away from falling apart. And then Dean sucks Castiel's cock into his mouth, fingers pushing apart the insides of his thighs. 

He makes a sound that's half a gasp, half a moan, and buries his fingers into the golden locks of Dean's hair.

"Fuck, Dean, fuck," he babbles, unable to put together a coherent thought. This isn't the first time Dean's done this to him, but Castiel feels like he's overheating, ready to combust at the seams. His hips start moving up into Dean's mouth before he knows what he's doing. Dean likes it, if the sudden moan he lets out is anything to go by. 

He pulls Dean off when he can feel pressure building along his spine, pressure that he doesn't want to snap. Not yet. 

"Hey, there," Dean says as he claims Castiel's lips again, the kiss long and hard.

"Dean," he says into Dean's mouth, breathing heavily. "Do you want to fuck me?"

"Or," Dean says, taking Castiel's right hand and bringing it behind Dean, to press at the hole between Dean's ass, and Castiel sucks in a breath. "You could fuck me instead."

"Okay," Castiel says breathlessly, "I can do that."

He pushes at Dean's shoulders and flips him around so that Dean's stomach faces the bed, exposing the tan skin of his back. He has freckles even here. Castiel kisses at the knob of Dean's spine and moves down until his tongue is right next to Dean's hole. Then he pushes it inside, groaning at the wet heat, just as Dean cries out above him. He slips his tongue in and out, leaning back to chuckle as Dean lets out a steady litany of curses.

Castiel moves toward the bedside table, pulling open the third drawer where there's a half-open bottle of lube that he grabs, along with a condom. The snap of the lube bottle seems too loud in the sudden silence of the room, and Castiel coats his fingers. But instead of using the one digit to open Dean up, he uses his tongue again, pressing in as far as he can go, and then adds his index finger alongside his tongue. Dean's hips come right off the bed.

"You're killing me," Dean groans, just as Castiel starts fucking in and out with his tongue, while his finger works on stretching Dean out from the inside. He adds his second finger into the mix, feeling Dean clutch at the sheets. It only takes a few seconds for Castiel to find Dean's prostate, and Dean curses again, pushing back on Castiel's fingers. He takes his tongue out and uses his mouth to instead kiss along the bottom of Dean's spine, inserting a third finger once he has enough room. He nails Dean's prostate two more times.

"You doing okay?" He asks Dean while he scissors his fingers in and out.

"How do you think I'm doing, you asshole?" Dean says, looking at Castiel over his shoulder. 

"Well, not a very good job if you're still capable of forming sentences," Castiel says before pressing against Dean's prostate again. Dean lets out a yelp, pushing back against the fingers Castiel has buried in him.

"I'm ready, shit," Dean bites out, and Castiel immediately pulls his fingers out, then uses his other hand to flip Dean back around so he can kiss him. But before he can do that, he gets to finally get a good look at Dean's face, from his wild eyes to his bitten lip to the rosy blush in his cheeks. He's beautiful.

Castiel seals his mouth over Dean's, bringing their cocks together again, both of them moaning at the friction.

"You gonna fuck me or what?" Dean asks, feeling along the sheets for the condom Castiel abandoned. Castiel practically growls when he rips it open, rolling it onto his cock, and then puts lube onto it. Dean looks at him eagerly as he shifts into place so that Dean can wrap his legs around Castiel's hips, arching them into his back. 

"I'll go slow, alright?" Castiel asks, placing his cock right at Dean's entrance. Dean nods at him, watching the way Castiel's cock sinks into his body, and Castiel closes his eyes at the sensation. It's pure heat, and he can barely breathe at how good it feels. He continues pushing in, watching Dean's face for any signs of discomfort before he presses in completely.

"Gimme a sec," Dean says as Castiel bottoms out, and Castiel waits while Dean takes in deep breaths, biting at his lower lip. After a moment, he nods again, even bringing a thumb up into the air. "I'm good." And then Castiel starts to move.

At first, he moves in and out agonizingly slow, circling his hips in back and forth that gives them just enough friction to feel good, but nowhere near good enough. He supposes it's payback for the time Dean was a tease back at the office.

"Cas," Dean whines when he realizes what Castiel's doing. "Come _on_."

Castiel leans up and brings his hips to Dean's ear. "What's that? I didn't quite catch that."

Dean groans, pushing his hips up so that Castiel pushes even further into his body. "Do it like you mean it." Dean keeps pushing his hips up and down, trying to convince him to start moving faster. " _Please_ , Castiel."

It's the use of his full name that has Castiel letting out a wild sound, kissing Dean again as he finally starts moving at a fast enough pace. Dean moves his hands into Castiel's hair, scratching along his scalp before moving his hands down to claw at his back, letting out broken noises into Castiel's mouth. The pressure starts building up Castiel's spine again, just as Dean hooks his legs higher up into the air. Castiel abandons Dean's mouth and pays attention to his nipples instead, licking at each of them until he wrenches Dean's right nipple into his mouth, twisting it with his teeth, and Dean almost screams.

"So good, I can't-" Dean breaks off, moaning again when Castiel does the same to his left nipple. And then Castiel shifts his hips to hit Dean's prostate, and this time, Dean does scream, reaching for Castiel's shoulder's again to kiss him. Their mouths are red, kiss-bitten, almost aching with the near abuse they've gone through, but Castiel kisses Dean with purpose, as if this moment, and this moment alone, will be enough to save him from whatever's been happening to him. If he shuts his eyes and wishes for it, maybe that'll be true. That maybe Dean won't get fed up with him and his problems and cut himself out of Castiel's life. It would devastate him. 

"Dean," he says, cupping Dean's face reverently, staring into the other man's eyes. "Please don't leave me," he says, his voice barely audible. His hips keep moving as he speaks, but he watches as a furrow forms between Dean's eyebrows and he pulls Castiel back down.

"I won't. I never will," Dean says tangling his fingers with Castiel's. "Promise." Dean brings Castiel's hand to his mouth and kisses his knuckles. 

Castiel doesn't have a good history with promises, but this is one he believes in.

He keeps moving within Dean, feeling his heartbeat race at the way Dean is looking at him, like he's staring right into Castiel's soul. Castiel reaches down to fist a hand around Dean's cock at the same time that he hits Dean's prostate, and suddenly Dean is letting out a string of nonsense, coming right into Castiel's hand. When he's done, Castiel brings his fingers up to his mouth and licks Dean's come off his fingers, still fucking into Dean.

"Christ," Dean says at the sight, taking hold of Castiel's mouth again and licking around in it, as if he'll be able to taste his own come. "You're gorgeous, you know that?" Dean breathes.

And then Castiel finally hears his blood thunder in his ears as he comes, mind almost whiting out with the sensation. He stops himself from collapsing onto Dean's chest as his heart rate tries to slow back down, his chest heaving with ragged breaths.

"Fuck," he gasps out, perfectly eloquent.

"Agreed," Dean says, grinning down at him. He eventually pulls out of Dean, getting up to dispose of the condom and to bring back a towel, shaky on his legs as he goes into the bathroom. When he comes back, Dean's staring at him through half-lidded eyes with a lopsided grin on his face, and fuck, Castiel loves him. 

He wipes down at the leftover come on Dean's stomach before throwing the towel to the floor and climbing into the bed with Dean, trying to calm the frenzy in his mind. He's in love with Dean, and he doesn't know why it took him so long to realize it. Because he's known for a while that if he woke up next to Dean every morning for the next hundred years, even that wouldn't be enough for Castiel. 

Dean wraps his arms around him, fitting Castiel to his front as Castiel pulls the sheets up to their chests. 

He gives Castiel a kiss on the neck, then moves to turn the lamp off. The light in the room falls away, save for the everlasting moonlight streaming into the room from the open curtains.

Castiel isn't sure if Dean says goodnight or not, because he falls asleep as soon as he shuts his eyes.


	10. Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Emetophobia warning for the first part of this chapter!

His fingers pause on top of his laptop as Castiel carries it back to his desk, aware that Naomi is watching him from the other side of the room. He isn't sure whether he should acknowledge her or wait for her to say something first. He goes with the latter and places his laptop onto his desk, just as Charlie pushes up out of her seat. 

"Well, I don't think I can look at corn prices for any longer," Charlie sighs, grabbing her tote bag from under her desk. "I mean, who really cares anyways, right?"

"I'm sure the farmers care," Castiel says, shrugging his shoulders. "Isn't that what your story is on?"

"Okay, yeah, but it's literally killing me. I'm gonna go take my lunch break now," she declares, packing her laptop into her bag. "Did you just come back from yours?"

"Yeah, I went with Kevin, but I have no idea where he went off to," Castiel looks around the room, and still doesn't see him anywhere.

"You didn't go with Dean?" Charlie asks, pulling her red hair back into a ponytail. 

Castiel shakes his head. "No, I think he went with Jo and Victor."

"Oh, well, I think I'm gonna go hit up Dorothy at work, see if she wants to grab something with me. Catch you later," Charlie says, holding up her hand in a reference to Star Trek. Or maybe it's Star Wars. Castiel still doesn't know the difference, much to Dean's ever present dismay.

When Charlie leaves, Castiel leans back into his desk chair and powers up his laptop, noticing that the calendar tells him that it's already November. He still doesn't know where the time is going by. Soon, it'll be two years since Amelia died, and Castiel still hasn't been able to clear things up with Claire like he was always supposed to. She still doesn't see a reason to forgive him or welcome him back into her life, and though Castiel understands why, it's still a wound that hasn't been closed. Jimmy would also be disappointed in him if he was still around. And Amelia probably hated him when she died, so that's three for three. Great.

He logs into his email, noticing one that Meg sent him yesterday, asking him to call her in the next week, so that they can start working out a plan for what he wants to do next. And she also attached pictures of her drinking with some famous actor, adding that she saw him in a bar. So it's both a professional and personal email, apparently. Castiel will call her when he has more time on his hands, probably on Friday night. Although, he thinks he might be spending Friday at Jessica's house because she's forcing him and Dean to come over for dinner. Castiel has no problem with it, if the lasagna she makes is anywhere close to how good Dean makes it. 

Speaking of Dean, he hasn't come back from his lunch break yet, even though he left the same time as Castiel did. Which isn't anything out of the ordinary, but Castiel still wonders where he is. And he also notes how Naomi is still watching his every move. It's more than unnerving. 

She doesn't say anything in particular to him as he's leaving the building four hours later, since she's migrated to her office by that time. Dean, who had eventually shown up twenty minutes after his lunch break should have ended, claimed that there had been a long line at the Mexican place that they went to eat at, but he still brought nachos back for Castiel, which he ate happily at his desk.

"You wanna come back to my place? We can watch HGTV and pig on Chinese food," Dean offers as they approach the Impala. 

"That's quite a tempting offer," Castiel quips, making Dean snort.

"Hey, we went out for Thai food the other night. So now we should stay in and watch people make bad decisions and buy tiny houses."

"Fine, I'll come over," Castiel sighs, but truly, he was set to say yes as soon as the words came out of Dean's mouth.

"Okay, awesome," Dean says as he opens Castiel's car door for him. The gesture makes Castiel's heart melt a little bit. 

They get back to Dean's house and end up going straight to the living room, where they both dump their laptops and sprawl out on two couches. Castiel finds a pillow and fits it under his head, still feeling as tired as he usually does. Because of that stone Rowena gave him, the one that's sitting in his pocket right now, he truly hasn't been getting worse, which is a good thing. But he still doesn't know how to completely expel how awful he feels. If he closes his eyes, he sees spots dances in front of him, even though it's not particularly bright in the room. And his legs feel weaker than they had before he moved here, his fingers more slender than he's used to. Something's changing him, and if Rowena doesn't want to tell him, then he'll have to figure it out himself, and soon. Because meeting with Anna told him that whatever happened to Inias, to Cain, to Kate, and even to Dean's mother is because of the same cause. And they all died from it. 

The grains in his hourglass are running out, yet Castiel can't find the motivation to search for a cure. Maybe he's already given up.

But then he looks across the room at Dean, oblivious to Castiel's thoughts, who has half his face buried in the couch cushions, one hand flickering through the channels using the remote. He catches Castiel's eye and smiles, and Castiel thinks he might have someone besides himself to fight for. 

"Dean, you look like you're about to fall asleep."

"No, I'm good. Just was a long day, that's all," Dean shrugs, as if it doesn't matter. "What about you? You haven't been getting worse lately."

"That's the same thing I was just thinking, and it's true. Maybe whatever was going on is getting better," Castiel suggests.

"Yeah, maybe," Dean says, but he doesn't sound convinced.

At a quarter to seven, Dean leaves to go get the Chinese food they ordered, Dean kissing him on the cheek right before he leaves. The touch of his lips wakes Castiel up a little from where he's floating in his state of exhaustion, so he tries to sit up straighter in his seat. 

While there's a commercial break in the episode of House Hunters that Castiel is watching, he gets up to go get a glass of water, sipping at it while he watches the clock above Dean's dining table tick. It's an ornate clock, with a hand-crafted design that gives off a feeling of elegance to the otherwise casually decorated room. Castiel watches as the second hand sweeps across from the one to the nine, a steady ticking noise in his ears. He's so absorbed in it that he barely realizes how the glass in his hand is slipping from the counter, until Castiel feels it completely slip out of his arm. He's quick to dive to the floor to catch it, the glass falling into his lap instead of shattering against the tile. Letting out a breath of relief, Castiel takes the glass and gets up using the counter's edge to steady himself, but when he gets back up, he's hit with a feeling of dizziness. The ticking noise in the background continues as Castiel stumbles back into the living room, but then the dizziness gets coupled with nausea, and Castiel feels his throat get tight.

He manages to run into the bathroom and fall in front of the toilet seat before he actually starts throwing up. At first, it's just the water that he just drank that comes back up, not burning his throat at all. And next comes the nachos and whatever else he ate for lunch, which actually does make his throat sting and his eyes water. He grips onto the edge of the toilet bowl, trying to stop the pounding in his skull. It's as if he's hungover, but Castiel knows for a fact that he hadn't been able to touch alcohol in weeks. 

After a couple minutes, Castiel thinks that the contents of his stomach are mostly gone, so he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath in through his nose to steady himself. But when he tries to take the breath back out, he's retching into the toilet bowl again, bile burning hot in his throats until the tears slip down his face. He feels the acrid taste in his throat as he starts to cough instead, still trying to take in deep lungful of air. 

He vaguely hears noise in the background, then rushing footsteps coming closer and closer to where he's coughing up his lungs, fingers jittery as he tries to center himself. The door to the bathroom pushes open in a burst of cool air.

"Oh crap," he hears Dean say from behind him, feeling a hand rubbing against his back as he continues to cough. "It's alright, let it out, Cas."

Castiel uses Dean's touch to ground him and bring him back to the present, slowly becoming aware of more than just the mess in his mind. 

When the coughing finally dies down, Castiel's threat feels abused and raw. He turns to Dean, who wipes the tears from his cheeks away with his thumbs.  

"What happened?" Dean asks him, gently.

"Don't know," Castiel says, his voice coming out more gravely than usual. It feels like someone scraped away at his throat.

"You wanna go lie down? Drink some ginger ale or something?"

He nods because he doesn't know what else to do, while Dean flushes the toilet and helps him up from off the floor. 

"I'm sorry," Castiel says as he leans over the sink after finding out his mouth.

"What for?" Dean asks. Castiel looks at him in the mirror, where he stands behind Castiel.

"For being so fucked up. You didn't ask to be with someone as messed up me."

"Hey, you don't need to apologize for anything, alright? I wouldn't be here with you if I didn't care about you enough to stay. If I didn't..." Dean tapers off, letting the words hang in the air between them.

"Yes, but until we know what's happening, I won't be normal. If we ever figure out what's happening," Castiel shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant.

Dean sees right through him. "Hey, we're gonna figure it out, okay? We can work on it tonight, I'll call up Sam and Charlie and anyone else who can help us," Dean states, moving closer to Castiel to rest their foreheads together. "I'm not letting you go no matter what, you understand me?"

Castiel takes in a shaky breath, tilting his head up to touch his nose to Dean's. "I understand."

"Well, good," Dean says, leading him out of the bathroom. "I'm guessing you don't want Chinese food anymore, but we'll figure something else out for you to eat."

"Can I have some Advil?" Castiel questions, even though he knows it won't help him. Maybe if he tricks his brain into thinking it's helping, then it actually will.

"Uh, yeah, it's in the cabinet over the toaster. But you sure you should be taking pills on an empty stomach?"

"It'll be fine," Castiel insists, right as he finds the bottle. He gives it a little shake before popping it open, swallowing two pills dry because he's not sure his throat can take the cold rush of water right now. He catches Dean looking at him concernedly from the corner of his eyes, but he pretends not to notice.

• • • 

"So, we've got nothing," Dean says, leaning back onto Castiel's couch three days later. "And I mean, literally nothing. Charlie says that she hasn't been able to find any cases like yours anywhere else in the world, and Sam says he hasn't heard anything like it either. They're both worried about you," Dean says, scrubbing a hand down his face. "Hell, I'm worried about you. I'm scared to death what's gonna happen if you keep on going like this."

The lump in Castiel's throat reminds him that he still hasn't clarified his theory to Dean, that Castiel is just like the other victims of the fire. He doesn't know how to explain it in a way that makes sense, that doesn't just sound like he's lost his mind along with his body. 

He's running out of time.

"Dean, maybe we should try getting out of town. Maybe that's the problem. I haven't left Cedar Woods still I stepped foot into it four months ago."

"You think it has to do with you being at home for too long? I mean, it's the best theory we've got so far."

"You want to get out of here tomorrow? After work?" 

"Yeah, sure. We'll take Baby and drive her up to Portland if we have to," Dean decides, putting a hand on Castiel's face. "We can still work whatever this is out."

Castiel leans into Dean's hand and nods his head. "Alright."

Dean's eyes flit back and forth between Castiel's before he leans forward and kisses him. It's a soft press of lips, but Castiel doesn't let it stay that way for long, pushing into Dean as Dean's hands come to rest on his hips. The kisses turn to almost bruising, as Castiel starts to back Dean up until the back of Dean's knees hit the couch and Dean falls backward, bringing Castiel down with him. Maybe they both need to feel like they have something to hold onto, and maybe that something is each other.

They nip at each other's lips until Castiel slips a hand under Dean's shirt, feeling along his back as he tugs at the seam of his shirt. 

Dean breaks away from Castiel's lip, taking a breath. "You're feeling okay right now, right?"

"Dean, I'm-" He pauses in his sentence then pushes away from Dean's chest, getting up from where he's seated on Dean's lap. "Dean? Do you smell that?" A strange smell floats through the air, making Castiel feel like there's something choking his lungs.  

Dean looks at him in confusion. "Smell what?"

"It smells like smoke. Did we leave the stove or oven on?" Castiel asks, moving out of the living room. He follows the smell of something burning, the smoky scent wrapping thickly around his nose.

"Cas, we haven't even turned either of them on today, and I really don't smell anything," Dean says, following him.

But the smell of the smoke continues to drift up into his nose, and Castiel feels his body move to the kitchen before he can stop himself.

What he sees makes all the air leave his lungs.

Somehow, a fire has started right by the stove, without him or Dean even realizing it.

The flames extend over the stove, though Castiel can't see what exactly is on fire. They curl up in thick strands of orange and yellow na and blue, layered upon each other to form a ghastly mesh of color. The fire goes almost to the counter top, tall as the top cabinet. He waves away at the smoke in the air, trying to figure out what caused it, but he doesn't see anything. Maybe it was spontaneous.

Before it can get bigger, he gets a pot and starts filling it with water from the sink, then goes and throws it over the flames. It does nothing.

"Cas? What are you doing?"

"Trying to stop the fire, what does it look like I'm doing?" Castiel yells, wondering why the smoke alarm hasn't gone off yet. The flames just get larger and larger, and the sickly scent of the smoke is making a home in his lungs.

"Fire? Cas, there's no fire here."

Castiel turns to Dean in confusion and frustration. "Dean, it's right fucking there," Castiel says, pointing to the flames, which wave up into the air, growing larger by the second. He feels helpless. 

He continues to throw water onto the flames, but they get bigger the more he throws, and the smoke is starting to choke him, so he fights back a serious of coughs. 

"Do something!" He chokes out, trying to get Dean to help him. How can he not see it?

Dean's arm darts out and pulls him back from the sink. "You're scaring me, Cas. There's nothing there."

"The flames are gonna swallow the whole kitchen if we don't-" He gasps while taking in his next breath. "If we don't try to stop it before it can spread further." 

"I don't see anything there because there's nothing to see!"

Before Castiel can answer, a long wave of smoke drifts into his nose and he falls to the floor, feeling like he's about to throw up everything he's ever eaten. His legs feel like jelly as he sprawls them out over the tiled kitchen floor.

Dean falls down with him, pulling Castiel's head into his lap. "Fuck, Cas, talk to me."

A ragged cough rips its way out of Castiel's throat, and he turns his head to look at where the fire is spreading across the counter tops. It looks so real, and he can feel the heat from here. How can Dean not see it?

"Call 911. Stop the fire," he chokes out, his breath hitching.

"You're choking on smoke? From the fire?" Dean asks, and Castiel nods at him.

"Alright, fuck, I can't see anything, but I can try to help," Dean's eyes dart around the room, as if trying to figure out what to do next. His hands are shaking where he has his fists curled into Castiel's shirt. "Just stay alert and right here with me, okay? Take deep breaths."

"Get a phone," Castiel says, feeling his eyes slipping shut, falling prey to the abyss as he loses his image of Dean. "Go call for help."

"I'm not leaving you here," Dean says, a hand tipping his chin up. His voice cracks and Castiel tries to reach a hand up to touch Dean's but his arm feels to weak to move. He tries to convey what he feels for Dean in his eyes, if he can't do it through touch. 

Because only now does he realize what just happened. It's the same thing that's happened to all the other victims, it's just that it occurred sooner than he thought it would. It's the fire that takes his life. And Castiel thought he still had a couple months to live, still had time to figure things out before he got too sick. And he still wants more time with Dean, more lazy Sunday mornings doing crossword puzzles together, going out to lunch at Benny's, making love into the late hours of the night. Because of what's been happening to him, he hasn't been able to do anything that he wanted. And he thought he at least deserved a little mercy after the last few years he's had, living without a brother. Hasn't it been enough suffering for one lifetime? 

And if this is one of his last moments, then it's his last chance to say what he hasn't been able to for days. "Dean, I lo-"

"Don't you dare say that to me right now, Cas. Just stop talking. You're not allowed to say that to me as a goodbye, okay? Say it when we're eating dinner together or when I'm making fun of your car or when I'm handing you a bottle of ketchup for your dumb omelets. Just not now, baby, please," Dean whispers, his voice breaking as he tries to hold himself together. 

"I don't think I have that long," Castiel croaks out, feeling his willpower start to give out. His chest feels too tight.

"Shut up. Yes, you fucking do," Dean bites out. "Just stay here with me, and I'll try figuring something out. I'll go call an ambulance for you. I just need to-" 

Castiel doesn't know what Dean says next, because just then, his breath stutters in his lungs, and he loses himself to the darkness.

• • •

When he waves into consciousness again, he finds that he can't move his body, and there's something caught in his throat. It There's a pillow under him, and he's lying down. He can't feel more than that.

Castiel wonder why he's awake again, when he thought he was dead. Maybe he's just mostly dead.

Beside him, he hears voices, but he can't quite make them out. 

"I'm sorry, but I don't know how to help him," a female voice says. One that Castiel doesn't recognize.

"You're a doctor. You're supposed to be able to help him!" An angry voice shouts. Dean.

"I've never seen anything like this before, Mr. Winchester. He inhaled too much smoke, and one of his lungs collapsed. We put in a chest tube between his ribs to help his lungs re-expand, but it's going to be a waiting game. He might be able to breathe soon, but brain activity is low." He must be in a hospital.

"And what's the cause, huh? There was no fire."

"I've seen stranger things before. Castiel isn't the one who has experienced something as bizarre as this. But then again, everyone's different."

"So you've treating something like this before?" Dean says, desperation leaking through.

"I haven't, but I know a friend that has," the sultry voice says. "Want me to call her?"

"Please," Dean says, and Castiel feels a thumb brush over the back of his hand. It's warm and gentle, and all he wants to do is let Dean know that he's still here, that he doesn't want to let go either, but it's like all his nightmares. He's unable to do anything to help himself. 

Castiel falls back asleep.

• • •

When he wakes up this time, he hears a woman whispering, a hand touching his arm. "I was wondering how long it would take for you to call me, Billie." It's Rowena. 

"I figured you would get it. I tried to help him from a medical standpoint as well as I can, but the rest is up to you," says the woman from earlier, who must be Billie. She must also be his doctor.

"Yeah, yeah, so can you help him or not?" Dean's voice cuts in.

"I can try, but I can't guarantee that he'll wake up. That'll be up to himself," Rowena says. "I just need to go back to my shop and prepare something. I can be back in an hour."

"An hour? Why didn't you just bring your stuff here?"

"Because I didn't know the severity of his condition," Rowena tells Dean. "And from the looks of it? It's not looking good."

Dean lets out a frustrated growl, and Castiel hears footsteps echoing around the room. "Fuck, okay, do whatever you gotta do." There's the sound of two sets of footsteps departing, and then silence. Maybe Castiel misjudged and Dean left the room too. But then he hears Dean's voice again, talking aloud, or rather, talking to someone on the phone. He isn't able to catch the whole conversation, but he can tell when it ends because Dean drops heavily into a chair beside him, the seat creaking. 

"Cas? Can you hear me? Because I-" he cuts off, taking another breath. "I don't know what I'm gonna do if you don't wake up. I don't know how I'm supposed to go on without you there with me. And I know it's fucking crazy, because I've known you for barely five months, but I knew I needed you yesterday, and I know I'll need you tomorrow. So, you gotta fight for yourself, and if you can't do that, then fight for me. Come back," Dean tells him, his voice drifting closer and closer. "Because I know I love you."

Castiel feels lips press down into his forehead, the touch light as air. 

"So wake up and say it back to me, sweetheart." Dean whispers from above him.

Darkness takes him away again.

• • •

This time around, Castiel wakes up and is able to open his eyes. He sees an empty room around him, the floorboards covered in a thin layer of dust, worn down and littered in scratches. The walls around him are plain white, a closet tucked into the corner. Castiel recognizes the room, but he isn't sure when exactly he's been in here before.

He turns around when the door creaks open, someone stepping into the room and slamming the door shut. It's Claire.

"Nice to finally meet you," the figure who looks like Claire says, except her voice comes out all wrong. It's pitched lower than usual, and she approaches him like a predator would do to their prey. There's a strange look in her eyes as she comes closer to Castiel. 

"Claire?" He says, even though he knows that somehow, this person in front of him isn't her.

"Nah, not Claire. But I got nailed down her look, right?" The figure smooths down the sides of its coat, grinning at Castiel. "Granted, it took me a couple tries, but I had time before you got here. I've been waiting for you, Castiel."

He backs away from the figure, unsure what to do. "Where am I?"

"You don't recognize it? It's la casa de Milton." The figure sweeps its hands out, gesturing toward the room. "The furniture isn't in here anymore, but you have been in here before." Castiel blinks and looks back around again, noticing that he really is in the Milton household, in one of the bedrooms on the first floor. When he'd last come in here, it had been with Dean.

"What am I doing here?"

"Well, I don't know if you realized it, but you're dying, Castiel. You have been for a few months. Ever since you came into town."

Castiel swallows against the panic rising in his throat. "I know that. But how am I here when I know the real me is lying in that hospital bed? I know I'm not actually present here."

"This all may be happening in your head, but it's real, of course. Your subconscious just brought you here to me when it couldn't cope with reality any longer. It's a pity, really, because I would have liked a little more time with you, but it's no matter. It was bound to happen sooner or later." 

"And who are you?"

"Ah, now that's a good question. I'm Ixion."

"Am I supposed to know who that is?" Castiel bites back, and the figure in front of him laughs, tilting its head back as Claire's blond hair falls away from its face.

"No one ever knows who I am, but I was expecting you to. You have read about me, after all. But maybe you need more context." Ixion tilts its head up. "I'm a Greek." Something in Castiel's mind clicks as he recalls reading about Ixion in the book he got from Rowena. The one filled with myth and stories that Castiel has found himself drawn to night after night. The one where Ixion's story is told, where he is condemned and forced to live in guilt for the crimes he committed. 

"How are you here? Why are you here? And why have you done this to me?" 

"I've been here since the town was founded, decades ago. But it's the Milton house that I am tied to, kind of like that wheel that I could never get off of. That arrogant Raphael Milton ended up saving me when he got those workers killed, trying to use magic to fix what he did but getting me instead. He was surprised, to say the least, when I killed him soon after this house was made." Ixion turns and starts pacing around the room, footsteps heavy on the hardwood. "I didn't know it was a curse, though. I didn't know I would be stuck here even after he died, left to suffer in this house. But then I realized what I was able to do by staying here.

"You see, I feed off guilt. And every time someone comes into town and catches my eye, I take special care of them, and use their souls to power myself so that I can continue to, you know, not spin on that godawful wheel." Ixion stops pacing so that he, because know Castiel knows that he was once a man, can make eye contact with him. "Your guilt is what's giving me life."

And all the pieces start to slot into place for Castiel, between one breath and the next. He thinks about the way he was drawn to the book about Greek myths enough to buy it, then read it after he had nightmares. Because he knows that the nightmares came from Ixion, a side-effect of he's doing to feed off of Castiel. And it's not just the nightmares. It's the nausea and exhaustion and the paranoia. From his broken door knob to the way he found himself drawn to the Milton house, even when he was unable to sleep. All the way to the fire on Piper Lane.

"So you were the one who began the fire," Castiel croaks out. "Why?"

"I wanted to draw you here, so I made sure there was a fire and there was someone to assign you the article."

"Is Naomi working with you?" Castiel asks, remembering the odd way she had been looking at Castiel the other day, the way she's always been concerned that he was going to leave the newspaper.

"Not consciously, she's not. Let's just say, usually I don't pick a new victim for several years, but this time around, I picked you quickly and I still have some power from the last person," Ixion says with a smirk, as if he knows something Castiel does not.

Castiel thinks back to the other victims he knows. Cain, Kate, Inias, And Mary. Who could he be talking about?"

"Of course," Ixian continues, taking Castiel's face into his hands, a fingernail sinking into his cheek. "You've been one of the best. You have so many burdens, still mourning your dead brother and his wife." Ixion winks. "And guilty about not being their for your niece. Really, it's unfortunate for you, but it's been incredible for me. Your soul truly is enough to last me decades." His nail presses in deeper, and Castiel can't move away, feeling as immobile as he felt in the hospital bed.

"So you've been eating away at my soul?" Castiel snaps.

"It has its side effects, as you're well aware of. But now it's time for us to say goodbye, because you have minutes left to live, Castiel. I've taken too much out of you," Ixion sighs, finally letting go of Castiel. 

"No, I don't-"

"Do you really want to live, Castiel? Truly? Burdened by all that guilt? Because I don't think you do. I'm doing you a favor."

"Listen, you asshole, I don't want to die. Not yet," Castiel gasps out as he struggles to move off from the wall. He wants to live.

"Really? For your friends? For Dean?" Ixion creeps closer to him again, pointing to himself. "For Claire?"

_Yes_ , Castiel thinks, _and for myself_. But he's released from the wall in a surge, dropping to his knees. The floor swings in and out of view as Castiel feels weary again.

"I chose this form because I thought it would make things easier for you. See, I am trying to work with you here. I'm not completely heartless." Ixion laughs. "Although, I wouldn't be able to take this form if I didn't do the same to her mother as I did to you."

White noise fills Castiel's ears as he tries to understand that statement. Amelia? She was in the same position as he is right now?

"Yes, Amelia," Ixion confirms. "Poor soul felt burdened after her husband's death. I sought her out as soon as she came into Cedar Woods, but I had to let her go too." Castiel thinks back to the way Amelia got sick suddenly, dying before Castiel could make amends. 

"But she didn't die in a fire," Castiel reasons, trying to calm the frantic beating of his heart.

"No, of course not. I do like to change things up every once in a while." Ixion plucks at the shirt on Claire's body, shrugging his shoulders. "I would have chosen Claire, and I was going to take her soon after Amelia was used up. But then you came along. Maybe I'll be able to use Claire next."

"No!" Castiel cries out, struggling to his feet. "I won't let you."

"It's not like you'll be around to stop me," Ixion says, advancing on him. "Now, the time for chit chat is over. It's time to cut to the chase." He grasps Castiel's shirt and tugs him closer, closing his eyes as if in deep focus. Castiel fights against his hold again, because God, he doesn't want to go yet. This can't be the end.

He focuses on trying to breath so that maybe Ixion won't be able to suck the soul out of him. He tries to lift his leg while Ixion still seems distracted, and manages to swing his leg up and hit Ixion in the shin.

Ixion outright growls, but now that Ixion's focus is broken, Castiel swings out wildly, trying to punch him, grappling him to the floor. He's not sure what he's trying to do except buy himself more time, since this is all happening in his head anyways. It's not like he has an actual way to kill him, right in this room. He hopes whatever Rowena went to do is going to help him.

"Alright, I admit that being in the body of a teenage girl doesn't exactly give me enough fighting spirit," Ixion says, shutting his eyes. "Maybe this'll be better. Thank the lord that Mary Winchester felt so guilty about giving up hunting, huh?"

And then right in front of Castiel, Ixion transforms out of Claire's body and right into Dean's, and the sight startles Castiel so much that he loosens his hold on Ixion, letting the other man turn them over so that it's Ixion on top of Castiel.

"Hunting?" Castiel gasps out.

"Yeah, she used to hunt spirits and monsters like me. Gave it up to live an apple pie life, but that didn't work out the way she wanted it to, to say the least." His eyes may be the same shade of green as Dean, right down to the amount of freckles across his cheeks, but everything else is different. There's no warmth in his eyes. 

"You know, your boyfriend here was subconsciously helping me all along too. Why do you think he told you the story about this house the night of the fire? Why was he always there when you were at your worst?" Ixion laughs, the sound coming out in the same deep timber as Dean's. "He isn't even in love with you, Castiel. Not the way you are with him. In fact, he's already given up on you and is letting you die."

_He's lying_ , Castiel thinks, remembering how desperate Dean had sounded in the hospital room. He has to be lying.

"You know I'm not lying. You know that deep down, someone like him could never care about someone as broken as you. You don't deserve him. This was inevitable. And now, you're gonna watch him suck the life right out of you," Ixion says, a sharp glint in his eyes. He presses down on Castiel's chest, and all the air leaves Castiel's lungs in one breath. He claws at Ixion's hand, trying to save himself, but spots begin dancing around his vision and his mind starts to shut down. Desperately, he tries to drag in another breath, but he sees Ixion's face, Dean's face, staring down at him with righteousness and fury.

And then he realizes what he has to do: let go.

All of this is happening because of how guilty he feels about Jimmy and Amelia, how torn up he feels because of what he did to Claire. He needs to let it all go.

So he focuses on the happy moments he shared with them, trying to will his mind to forgive himself. He didn't mean to break the promise, and he knows that he would change the way he acted. And he thinks of Dean, telling him time and time again that it wasn't his fault for reacting the way he did, that it's just the way he learned to cope. Because in the end, he never really felt so whole in his life as he does when he's with Dean.

He lets all of it go, and that's when the room fills with light until it's whiteness that fills Castiel's vision instead of the dark.

• • •

Waking up is painful. 

His senses one by one, opening his eyes when he's able to. He sees a white, blank ceiling above him, and moving his eyes to the side, he's able to make out a fuzzy figure. When he tries to speak, he finds he cannot because there's a mask on his face, feeding him oxygen.

He begins to choke, scrambling to pull it off of him, before there's a hand on him, pulling the mask off for him. He takes in a grateful breath of air, trying to bring the room into focus.

"Cas? You awake?" Dean says shakily, his hands closing around his shoulder, but Castiel isn't able to speak yet. He reaches for Dean's hands instead, squeezing it, and Dean lets out a breathless laugh, overflowing with relief. "I'm gonna go get a nurse, okay? Just sit tight."

Dean leaves the room, coming back a minute later with a dark-skinned woman, a clipboard in her hand. She checks all of Castiel's vitals and removes the tube in his chest, closing up the wound. She helps him sit up better in the bed.

"Glad to see you're with us, Castiel. You gave all of us quite the scare." When Castiel still stares at her in confusion, she gives a smile. "Oh, right, you don't know who I am. I'm Dr. Messor, but you can call me Billie. Dean brought you here earlier after you inhaled too much smoke." she says, then looks at Rowena, who has also entered the room. "I'm sure the two of them can explain what truly happened to you better than I can."

"How long has it been?" he says, his voice coming out strangled.

"Since the smoke inhalation? About six hours, I would say. Dean spent the first three or hours pacing around and harassing the staff."

"Hey!" Dean says at the same time Castiel says, "That sounds like him."

"Well, I'll let you rest up now," Billie says, leaving him in the room with Rowena and Dean.

Jess and Sam come in seconds after she leaves, both of them exhaling in relief.

"I'm so glad you're okay, Cas," Jess says, coming to squeeze his shoulder gently. 

"You scared the shit out of us," Sam adds, looking back at Dean. "After this guy called me, well, let's just say I don't think I've driven to Cedar Woods that fast in my life."

"And uh, there's someone else here to see you too," Jess says, glancing to the door. "Should I bring her in, or do you want to wait a little while?" Jessica asks. 

Castiel assumes it's Charlie, so he nods, watching as everyone but Dean filters out of the room, Rowena leaving with a wink.

Dean hovers close to the doorway, but he doesn't take his eyes off Castiel, even as Claire enters the room.

"Claire?" He chokes out.

"Glad to see you're still alive and kicking," Claire greets. "I've got to say, hospitals are not my happy place."

"Who called you here?"

"Jody. They called her here to talk to Dean after he tore the halls looking for someone to help you."

"Oh. You didn't have to come."

"I find out that you're dying, and you think I don't come? Of course I came. I wasn't gonna let a third family member die before I was ready to say goodbye," Claire shrugs, but her voice is shaky. "You know, I had a lot of time to think while I was waiting out there, and I realized that I don't want things to be shitty between us. It's about time that I get over my grudge." She exhales heavily, as if bracing herself. "I think that I want to start over with you, if that's okay."

"Really?"

"Well, yeah. Almost dying makes people reconsider a lot of things," Claire says, before leaning into him with a hug. "I'm glad you're okay."

"Yes, me too," Castiel says , giving Claire a smile.

She stays in there for the fifteen minutes, and then Dean's the only person in the room.

"Cas?" Dean says, coming up to him and pulling Castiel into his chest. Castiel returns the embrace, sinking into Dean's arms gratefully. It calms him.

Dean leans back and looks at him with serious eyes. "Don't you ever do that to me again," he warns.

"I won't." 

"I'm serious." Dean rubs a hand down his face, exhaling in relief. "I thought I lost you forever," Dean confesses, his voice breaking at the end. "And then Rowena went to go figure something out to save you, but you woke up before she could get back, and I swear it was like I could finally breathe again."

Castiel just nods, not wanting to relay the long story just yet. He knows he'll have to tell the same to Claire, so that she can get closure about Amelia.

"Well," Dean says, biting his lip. "Do you still feel like shit?"

"No," Castiel answers honestly. "I feel a lot better than I've felt in weeks." Castiel says, realizing there's no exhaustion or heavy feelings tugging at him. His head feels clear for the first time in a while. 

"Thank god," Dean whispers, taking Castiel's hand into his. "Just a few more hours and you can go home and get some real sleep, huh?"

"I think I've earned that."

"Hell yeah, you have." Dean sits down into the seat next to the bed, still holding Castiel's hand. A minute passes where neither of them know what to say, Castiel taking in how tired Dean seems to look, but there's a crooked smile gracing his mouth as he looks at Castiel.

"Hey, Dean," Castiel says.

"Yeah?"

Castiel smiles. "I love you, too."

• • •

On the ride home, Castiel watches as the trees pass around him, feeling more alive with every breath he takes. Nothing's weighing him down like it had been before, and it's a wonderful feeling.

"So, now what do we do?" Dean asks him.

"What do you mean?"

"You know, every couple always has that one thing in their relationship, that one hump they have to get over before we can go off into the sunset, and we already passed ours. So, what do we do now?"

Castiel breathes in another lungful of air, eyes going from the window beside him to look at Dean, who looks back at him for a moment before looking back to the road in front of him.

"I don't know. I guess we'll both go back to work, and you'll go back to teasing Sam, I may write another book, and you can continue working as a mechanic. We'll figure out the rest when we have to."

"Yeah, you're right," Dean says, taking Castiel's left hand and pulling it into his own, folding their fingers together.

They go home.


	11. Epilogue

Shades of red and purple stain the sky, stealing away the light as the day fades away.

Castiel reaches out above him to flicker out the porch light, the unfinished crossword puzzle still sprawled out in his lap. He only has three clues left to figure out, but he's beyond frustrated with them. Maybe Dean will know the answers.

He checks his phone for the fourth time in the last hour, noting how it's almost six. Dean should be home any moment now.

Exactly two minutes later, Castiel hears the rumble of the Impala, the engine cutting off abruptly as Dean pulls himself out of the car. He's carrying a white paper bag in one arm, a small on his face that widens when he sees Castiel on the porch. He comes up the stairs and takes a seat next to Castiel on the couch, setting down the paper bag onto the glass table. Dean plucks the pen out of his arm, then sets down the crossword puzzle too. Then he leans forward and kisses Castiel, warming him up at the soft press of their lips together.

Castiel slides his hands under Dean's jacket, nipping at Dean's bottom lip when he tries to pull away from Castiel.

"Well, someone missed me today," Dean greets when he leans back, grinning at Castiel. 

"I'm just cold," Castiel says, pulling Dean closer to him again. "And you're warm."

"So I'm just your personal heater, huh?"

"Yes." Castiel tucks his cold nose into the side of Dean's neck, mumbling into his skin. "Why is it so cold outside?"

Dean chuckles, wrapping his arms around Castiel's back. "Because it's the middle of February and you're sitting on the porch in just sweatpants and a trench coat? Which reminds me: I still need to burn this coat."

Castiel leans back to narrow his eyes at Dean. "You love this coat."

"Yeah," Dean sighs, tucking a loose strand of hair behind Castiel's left ear. "I do."

A whip of wind makes the newspaper float to the floor, his pen rolling away to the floor. Castiel gets the newspaper while Dean gets the pen, handing it off to Castiel, but he puts both of them back onto the table.

"Is there a reason you've decided to do the crossword puzzle outside instead of inside where, you know, it's actually warm?"

"I got bored of writing, so I decided to do yesterday's crossword. Because someone distracted me all day," Castiel says pointedly.

"Hey, I didn't hear you complaining about it yesterday," Dean says, waggling his eyebrows at him. Castiel rolls his eyes.

"You're incorrigible," he quips back. He puts his fingers into the pockets of his coat to warm them up, but they're already growing numb, a pins and needles sensation arising in them when he presses a thumb into his palm. He takes his hands out of his coat, and Dean pulls them into his warm ones, rubbing them between his own. The friction generates enough heat that Castiel starts to feel blood flow back into them.

"How is the writing coming, anyways?" Dean asks, trying to sound innocent. Castiel knows he's just trying to fish for hints about what Castiel's next book is about, but Castiel hasn't said a word about it yet. He wants Dean to read it when it publishes, alongside everyone else.

"It's going okay. I'm just stuck at this one part."

"You know, if you tell me the gist of it, maybe I can help you figure something out," Dean offers, and Castiel shakes his head.

"No, I'm good, " Castiel replies, finally getting off the couch, abandoning his newspaper and pen and instead reaching for the paper bag that Dean brought. "You know I'm not going to tell you anything."

"Yeah, but it doesn't hurt to try, right?" Dean says, also rising from the couch. "Now let's get inside and eat before we both freeze to death." He pushes open the front door, a gust of warm air coming out and hitting Castiel. Dean goes inside before him, his hand reaching out to squeeze his fingers as he does, while also taking the bag from him. Castiel stays on the porch for a second, looking across the yard where the grass lies in frozen patches. Spring isn't coming for a while, and yet Castiel feels like winter's been going on for months, itching to be back in the sun. Last summer, he and Dean took a road trip to Kansas for two weeks.

His eyes catch on the darkening sky, then move to the flood of light spilling across his porch. It's hasn't even been a year and a half since everything happened, but it still feels like yesterday that he was weary to the bone, just going through the functions everyday. But he's started to live his life now, forging relationships that he doesn't intend to break, building up a support system. It's more than he ever thought he would have.

"You coming?" Dean calls from somewhere in the house, just as Castiel turns away from his porch.

"Yeah," he says, but mostly to himself. 

He takes a deep breath and goes inside, the pools of light disappearing behind him with a flicker of the light switch, right along with the cold.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Find me on tumblr [ here](http://charmedcas.tumblr.com/).


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